


That Golden Summer Rush

by ceta346



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, High School AU, High School Band AU, M/M, Modern AU, Slow Burn, band au, but nothing super bad, even coran, everyone gets an equal distribution of angst i think, there is underage drinking mentioned, wouldnt be a fic i wrote without that SLOW BURN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceta346/pseuds/ceta346
Summary: Lance wants to be in a old-school garage band. Keith wants to start one. What else could bring these two together but their mutual love for creating music? (hint: the rest of the band).AKA this is the high school band fic where I project my love of 80s music onto every character.





	1. Don't Talk To Strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maliklgiraffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliklgiraffe/gifts).



> This chapter, like all chapters planned in this fic, is named after an 80's song! I try to name them with songs that are relevent to the events in the chapters. 
> 
> This chapter is named after the song Don't Talk To Strangers by Rick Springfield, 1982.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of something legendary.
> 
> This chapter is named after the song Don't Talk To Strangers by Rick Springfield, released in 1982.

“All I’m saying,” said Lance, his feet propped onto the desk in front of him, “Is that it’s kind of a waste to learn piano if you don’t ever perform it. Y’know?”

He was twiddling a pencil in his hand. They were supposed to be working on an assignment. And everyone was, except him. His partners were begrudgingly trying to be productive and hold a conversation with him as he entertained himself at the same time.

“Yeah well, I haven’t seen you performing either,” replied Hunk looking down at his homework.

“Good point,” Lance allowed. “But it’s different. Bassists need a band. They aren’t really a solo act.”

“You play like, four different instruments though,” mumbled Pidge as they chewed on their eraser. “Ukulele is a solo instrument. You don’t perform with that.” A blush rose up on Lance’s cheeks.

“The ukulele is not how I’m getting famous.” he protested. “I’m gonna be part of a cool band, and I’m gonna be the bassist, and that’s how I’m becoming a celebrity.”

Hunk, without glancing up, deadpanned. “You sound so sure.” Unknown to Hunk, however, was that that had been the cue Lance was waiting for. A smug grin smacked its way onto his face.

“Oh, great,” Pidge complained, catching a glimpse of his expression. Lance took a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket and made an effort to smooth it down until it was readable. With emphasis, he slapped it in front of Hunk. The paper was actually a handwritten ad that’d been stuffed in his pocket since before school, when he’d spotted it on a bulletin board and snatched the only copy up like there was no tomorrow.

“Musicians needed,” Hunk read aloud as he skimmed. “Percussion, bass, and other instruments...meet in the south parking lot at four if interested. South parking lot? Lance, this flyer is super vague. Sounds shady. Didn’t your mom ever tell you ‘don’t talk to strangers?’” He looked to his friend with eyes narrowed. “What if this is like the time with Rolo and Nyma?” Lance patted his friend’s shoulder.

“Why do you think I’m bringing you along, Hunk? This is a band. What could happen?” They all knew that a lot could happen. _What could happen?_ Was just Lance’s way of saying that he was going to do it no matter what consensus they came to. Pidge looked at Lance witheringly.

“I’m not doing it.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he whined. “I know that you don’t do well in the center of attention, both of you, but I wouldn’t be pushing this if I didn’t think it would be good for you.” The genuinity of his plea evoked a sigh from Hunk. Pidge continued to do their homework, unbothered. Lance had known that Pidge would be difficult. Carefully, he took a quieter tone. “Pidge,” he started. “I know that--”

“Don’t.” interrupted Pidge forcefully. “Don’t make this about Matt.”

Lance closed his mouth and glanced at Hunk. Hunk glanced back. Neither of them said anything, but he knew Hunk was going to come with him. He’d get Pidge on board eventually, right? It was best for them. Pidge needed a hobby. Well, something other than hacking into the government. Something constructive, that took their mind off of all the crap going on around them. With a small exhale, Lance lifted his feet off of the desk in front of them and actually started to examine the homework. Pidge was another problem for another day. He needed to focus on what was happening now.

He grabbed the flyer and shoved it back in his pocket. South parking lot, four o’clock.

_ _ _

South parking lot. Four o’clock. Keith had written that on the flyers, right? He must have. So why had no one showed up? Maybe Allura had been wrong. Nobody was into bands anymore, not at the Garrison, at least. Screw the Garrison. It was 4:02. He was waiting another five minutes and then he was leaving.

It was another thirty seconds before someone showed up. Two people. One was lanky and loud, kinda cute, he was saying something to his shorter friend but Keith couldn’t make out what it was. They grew quieter as they approached.

“Uh, hey,” said the tall one, shoving his hands in his pockets. His voice was smooth, deeper than Keith’s. He wondered if the stranger was a singer. “You uh, the band guy?”

Keith nodded. There was an instrument case strapped onto his back. Guitar, then? No. Bass.

“Yep. What instruments?” he asked. He cleared his throat. It was scratchy from lack of use.

“Bass,” confirmed Tall Boy, pointing a thumb to himself. “Keyboard,” a gesture to his friend, who waved. “Annnnd hopefully drums, but we’ll see how that pans out. They’re, um, difficult. You?”

“Guitar. And we have vocals, but she’s busy right now. It’s just me here.” Tall Boy visibly perked up at the mention of a she. So he was _that_ kind of guy. Keith decided to ignore him, and directed his attention to the quieter member of the duo. “You said keyboard? Like, piano?”

The guy nodded. “I’m Hunk.” He didn’t look too trusting of Keith. Because of this, Keith inherently liked him.

“Who’s the singer?” Tall Boy asked excitedly, looking around like she might be hiding in a bush.

“Her name is Allura. This all was her idea. Just met her like, two weeks ago. I think she was part of another band that broke up, but I wouldn’t mention it to her. She’s uh, kind of touchy. But really talented.”

“Hm,” Tall Boy’s eyebrows creased thoughtfully, a hand placed itself on his chin. Slowly, eyes slid to Keith. He already didn’t like where this was going. “Sooooo,” Tall Boy leaned forward. “Are you guys like….a thing?”

“What? No! Dude, she’s like, twenty.”

“Yeah, well, listen…” Tall Boy stalled as he realized he didn’t know Keith’s name. “Um….mullet man! Yeah, mullet man. I’d appreciate it if you left her to me, anyway.” An expression Keith guessed was supposed to be suave looked at him expectantly.

“My name is Keith,” came his forceful reply. God, leave her to him? Did he realize how slimy that sounded? “You can try all you want to; I won’t be in your way.” He glared at Tall Boy’s stupid face. If Allura beat this guy up, Keith probably wouldn’t mind.

Then Hunk whistled, breaking the intense stare-down that’d been happening unknowingly between the two others. “By the way dude,” he said to Keith, looking past him. “I dig your motorcycle. Really cool. It really cements your aesthetic as like, the badass silent rock star, y’know?”

“Uh, thanks?” Keith did not know what an aesthetic was.

“Yeah,” Tall Boy said with an eye roll. “I guess. Can we talk about the band now? What’s it called?”

“We don’t have a name yet,” Keith told him, as Hunk tried to get on his motorcycle. “Hunk.” he warned, eyes narrowed. With the face of a wounded puppy, Hunk retreated back to his place beside Tall Boy.

“Well,” Tall Boy clapped his hands together once and let out a breath. “Dunno about Hunk, but I’m in. Can I give you my number or what?”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith replied as he dug out his phone from his pocket. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, it’s Lance.” Tall Boy--Lance--stuck his hand out for a handshake. Keith hesitantly obliged. “Gotta say,” he expanded, letting go of his grip with an easy smile. “I have nothing but good feelings about this. It’s gonna be so awesome. I wanna be famous, like David Bowie or something like that. I bet we'll get famous.” Then, with some redirection from Hunk, he rattled off his number, Hunk gave his, and Keith saved them into his phone.

“I’ll call you later and we can start figuring more out,” he said as he climbed onto his bike. “Sound good?” Lance gave him a cheesy thumbs up and Hunk nodded.

Keith left the parking lot looking forward to the start of a band.


	2. Who Can It Be Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura and Coran make their appearance!
> 
> This chapter is named after the song Who Can It Be Now? by Men At Work, released in 1981.

They were in Keith’s garage. Lance had immediately thought it appropropriate--they were a high school band, this was just like in all those music videos and classic movies-- but Keith had seemed embarrassed about it. 

 

“Sorry,” he kept saying. “There’s not room for all of the equipment anywhere else in the house.” Whatever. Lance thought it was cool, and it definitely cemented his new bandmate as the same in his head. Just another cool Keith thing.

It was just Keith, Hunk and Lance at the moment. They were waiting on Allura and maybe (maybe) Pidge. Hunk had worked some of his ultra mega amazing supportive friend magic last night on them, who’d, in result, caved and told them that they would make an appearance if they felt like it.

 

He and Hunk had been at Keith’s house for a total of five minutes, four of which were just Hunk interrogating Keith about his super rad motorcycle.

 

“You  _ built _ it? By yourself?”

 

“Uh, with some help.”

 

“Are all the pieces custom?”

  
“Most.”

 

“When did you finish it?”

 

“About a month ago.”

 

Lance was glad to see that Hunk had gotten more comfortable around Keith. They were buds now, it seemed. Bonding over the construction of a motorcycle. Lance contemplated the future of this nameless band as he laid on the gross cement flooring of Keith’s garage. (He wished there were chairs.) They had almost no idea what they were doing-- the most experienced member was one Lance had yet to even meet: Allura. He wondered what she would be like. Gorgeous, definitely. Even the name suggested her beauty. Keith had mentioned she had been in a past band that hadn’t worked out. Lance hoped that it wouldn’t be the same case with this one.

 

A car rumbled onto the driveway, Lance propped himself up to effectively stare. Sadly, it wasn’t their singer. Instead, Pidge got out of the car, slamming the door behind them. Their stare pierced through Lance’s skull as he made eye contact and waved weakly, already kind of intimidated. Mrs. Holt backed out of the driveway after a few seconds. Pidge set their backpack down. They looked like a ferret with glasses in a giant hoodie. Their hair was, as usual, a mess.

 

“So,” Keith started, closing the distance between him and Pidge. He paused, clearing his throat. Louder, he repeated himself. “So. You’re the drummer? I’m Keith.” He held out a welcoming hand. Pidge looked down on it and shook it briefly. “Guitar.” 

 

“Call me Pidge.” They surveyed the garage, their gaze getting snagged by a small white refrigerator snuggled in the corner. “You got any drinks?”

 

“We have water, Coke, and sparkling lemonade down here, I think.”

 

“I’ll take a lemonade,” Lance interjected. After a second, he added, “Please.” Pidge asked for a Coke. As Keith tossed Pidge their can, the last car pulled onto the asphalt. “Who can it be now?” asked Hunk from the back. A mustached man was in the driver’s seat, and in the passenger seat was---Lance gaped.

 

The most beautiful woman Lance had ever seen. Period. It had to be Allura. She was dark-skinned, and her hair--her  _ hair. _ It seemed impossible how voluminous it was. It was like looking at a cloud attached to someone’s head. She was fit, too. She had the body of a toned athlete. Bottom line: she was  _ hot. _

Then something hard and heavy hit him in the back of the head.

 

It succeeded in snapping his focus back to the others. The weapon-- a can of sparkling lemonade. The culprit-- Keith. 

 

“Whoops,” the culprit said sheepishly, smiling in a stupid, smug way that totally suggested he’d known exactly what he was doing. Lance narrowed his eyes at the guitarist before taking his drink in hand and turning back to Allura, who was now stepping out of the vehicle. He got up and dusted himself off, headed toward her.

 

“Hey,” he said, lowering his voice an octave. She was even prettier up close. Her eyes practically glowed. “I’m Lance.” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile that he intended to be sexy.

 

Judging by her unimpressed expression, it wasn’t. “Allura,” she said slowly. Oh god, she had a british accent. And he’d thought she couldn’t possibly get more attractive. The mustachioed driver of the car also got out, and headed over towards the others. However, Lance was preoccupied, so he didn’t bother paying attention to any of the other interactions.

 

“You’re our vocalist?” He asked her. She nodded tersely. “Nice. I bet you sound like a choir of angels.” He followed it up with a flirtatious eyebrow raise. Nailed it.

 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Allura replied. “Are you...a roadie, or something?” A wheeze escaped from Lance’s mouth. She’d said that so  _ genuinely _ . She wasn’t even mocking him intentionally.

 

“Uh,  _ no!” _ he protested. “For your information, I am the one and only bass guitar of this whole shebang. I’m not,” he paused to scoff. “I’m no roadie.”

 

Allura’s eyebrows lifted and she frowned. “Oh...my apologies. Well then, Lance. I look forward to working with you.” She held a hand out. Lance decided his wounded pride wasn’t worth starting a fight over with her, so he took it in stride and walked with her to join the others.

 

Seduction Attempt Numero Uno: a failure.

 

Apparently, the driver’s name was Coran, and he was actually a pretty kickass guy, according to Allura. He was also British and pretty chill, so Lance liked him immediately.

 

“I have one more contact that I’d like to be involved in this operation,” Allura informed them all as a group. “His name is Takashi. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’ll be able to be in the band full-time, but I asked him specifically for his song-writing abilities, so we should be fine without him at every practice.”

 

“You seem to have this all very thought-out,” commented Pidge from the side. Their expression was neutral, but Lance could sense conflict brewing. 

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Allura asked, her expression equally emotionless. It seemed she felt the same thing. Pidge took a long gulp of Coke before replying.

 

“There’s no guarantee that I’m staying here. You’re banking on the fact that I’m in this for the long haul.”

 

“You won’t be?”

 

“Probably not. I have bigger priorities.”

 

That was when Allura got cross. Her mouth turned into a scowl and her eyes that had earlier seemed fantastical were now terrifying. “Then why did you even bother showing up?” Her voice was suddenly like ice.

 

Not really wanting to make eye contact with her or Pidge, Lance looked at everyone else. 

 

Coran looked awkward, his gaze flicking between Pidge and Allura like he was at a Wimbledon match. Hunk was unsurprised, he was just generally unhappy with the words coming out of Pidge’s mouth. Now that he’d forged a bond with Keith, he was fully invested in this band like Lance was. Keith was pissed but was making an effort to hide it. Lance could tell through the tightness of his jaw, the crease between his eyebrows, the way his arms were crossed defensively. Other than that, Keith was the image of indifference. But he could see that the guy cared.

 

“I was baited.” deadpanned Pidge, not-so-subtly looking between Hunk, who’s eyes were wide with the sudden realization he was being dragged into the argument, and Lance, who was trying not to meet Pidge’s eye. He had to admit, he felt a little guilty.

 

“You still came here of your own free will,” answered Allura, thankfully ignoring Pidge’s attempt to put the heat on Hunk. “You didn’t have to, but you did. There’s no quitting now.” Her voice had a steeliness that was surprising. Lance wondered if Pidge knew about Allura’s previous music group.

 

“Whatever.” Pidge grumbled, pushing up their glasses. The argument was over, Pidge had resigned. Lance, who was next to her, heard Allura let out a long breath as Pidge sulked to the other side of the garage.

 

“Hey,” Lance said with a thin smile. “Pidge is great once you get to know them, I promise. They’re just working through some personal stuff.” Allura looked to him questioningly then glanced over to the percussionist with a hopeful expression. Pidge and her locked eyes. They still looked a little unapproachable, but Allura clearly didn’t care. She came over anyway. Then, said some words that Lance couldn’t overhear, but seemed to be sincere and have an effect on Pidge. They smiled and laughed a little, and Allura put her hand on their shoulder. The moment ended, and Keith came over to give Allura a water bottle, which reminded Lance of his own beverage. The artificial lemonade was still in his hand, and it was lukewarm by now, but he didn’t really care. He popped it open.

 

Funny thing about carbonated drinks that have been thrown around. They explode.

 

Funny thing about people watching something embarrassing happen to someone. They also explode. Into laughter.

 

Five seconds after he’d met Allura and Lance was covered in sticky lemonade and surrounded by his friends’ cackling. He wondered if other people had such rotten luck. Somehow the drink had managed to seep into most of his shirt. The sensation was deeply unpleasant. He could feel the stickiness against his skin. Allura and Keith had backed up to avoid the spray, and they might as well have been coughing up their lungs with how hard they were laughing. At him.

 

Lance’s face tightened into an embarrassed smile, and let out a laugh that definitely was not extremely forced. Even Pidge, who had been stony a moment before, was giggling. Nice to know his humiliation was universally hilarious.

 

Decidedly, he went over to a trash bin and dropped his can into it. He was no longer thirsty. Then, he stalked off to Hunk’s car (they’d carpooled), lifted his drenched shirt off of him and threw it in the backseat. It reeked of sugar and citrus. His bass was sitting back there, looking sad and unused in it’s case. Hunk’s keyboard was in the trunk. They’d brought them just in case. He slammed the back door and came back into the garage. Thankfully, everyone had stopped cracking up at him. Pidge seemed more open. They were chatting with Coran about something enthusiastically, everyone else listening in. At least his embarrassment had accomplished  _ something. _

 

Lance McClain, professional clown and ice breaker. No autographs, please.

 

He rejoined the conversation, which had shifted into another subject. “I like it,” Allura was saying. “It has my vote.”

 

“Me too,” agreed Keith. “I say we keep it.”

 

Wait, what? What had they even agreed on?   
  


“What’re we talking about?” questioned Lance from right behind Keith. His bandmate jerked in surprise, turning around. Lance watched as Keith’s eyes noticed his shirtlessness.

 

“What?” questioned Lance, also realizing that it was probably really weird that his shirt was off. He played it off like he hadn’t. “You like what you see or something?”

 

Keith’s face was suddenly a frown. “You wish,” he replied sourly. He turned back around with a scoff. Okay, Lance didn’t blame Keith for that response. It wasn’t like he’d set himself up for success with that question. It still hurt a little, though.

 

“Dude,” Pidge said to Lance with a small laugh. “You reek. Oh, and we’re talking about what we’re gonna name ourselves.”

 

A quick sniff confirmed that Lance now smelled strongly of lemon. “Shut up and tell me the band name,” he grumbled, unhappy with this development.

 

“ _ The Lions! _ ” exclaimed Coran. “Isn’t it catchy?”

 

Lance liked it. But at the moment he felt like he’d rather lick the filthy floor of Keith’s garage then voice his approval. “It’s alright,” he muttered. “I don’t hate it.”

 

“Then it’s decided,” Allura announced with a smile. “That’s the name. Oh, and I’d like to ask each of you if you play more instruments. The more diversity we have musically, the better. Anyone?” She waited for a reply.

 

“I can play the bongos,” Coran offered light-heartedly. Hunk and Allura chuckled next to him.

 

“I can sing, play electric or acoustic guitar, bass guitar, and I’m a fast learner, so similar instruments are also a thing if you need it to be,” answered Keith. Lance’s eyebrows dropped.  _ Another bass? _ He wasn’t surprised. The bass and the guitar were basically the same instrument. But Lance had never played a real guitar. It made him uncomfortable that Keith was treading on his territory.

 

“Um, I play instruments too,” Lance proclaimed. “Bass, obviously, vocals too, um...ukulele, a saxophone, and I play the drums on Guitar Hero all the time? So that too. Uh...the triangle. Probably bells in general. Trumpets are basically less fancy saxophones, yeah?”

 

“No.” stated Keith.

 

“Whatever. I can still play more instruments than you, mullet man.” Keith shot him a pugnacious look. 

 

“Put a shirt on.” he told him.

 

Lance returned the hostile stare. “No. This is America and I have the freedom to be topless.”

 

“Oh my G--”

 

Hunk chose that moment to say he could only play the piano. Pidge was also only talented in percussion.

 

“Drums are cool,” they admitted. “But it really isn’t my main hobby.”

 

Allura surveyed her new band with a mixture of hope, anxiety, and enthusiasm. They looked promising. She wanted this to work. 

 

“Well,  _ Lions, _ ” she declared with a smile. “I have optimism that this will be a wonderful partnership. I speak for myself and Coran when I say that we are excited to be in the music business again, and we are excited to be in it with you.”

 

“Bring it in, guys!” Coran practically yelled, grabbing everyone and squeezing them into a group hug. There was a collective groan from the four of them.

 

“This’ll be great.” muttered Pidge completely sardonic.

 

“I know,” Hunk sighed, completely genuine.


	3. Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after the song Call Me by Blondie, released in 1980.
> 
> the klance begins

Keith’s garage had become their meeting place. They’d decided on his house because it was the least distance travelled for everyone. It hadn’t been that important of a thing, but Keith liked having them over. At some point  _ The Lions  _ had wormed their way into his heart.

 

Being part of the group was nice, because he liked feeling needed, and he enjoyed the music they played, and it gave him a good feeling deep in his gut after a successful practice. But he couldn’t shake the thought it wouldn’t last. Some voice in his head was telling him not to get attached, because  _ what if you move again, what then? _  He didn’t want to, but there was a very real possibility he could move to another foster home. It gave him a sick feeling just thinking about it. Keith had already made a home here, he had friends now; he didn’t want to lose it.

 

But one more strike and it was over. He’d already almost gotten evicted from  _ this _ house -- his expulsion from Garrison High had seen to that. And to be honest? If Allura hadn’t found him playing on a street corner and offered him that opportunity, he probably would be somewhere else already. 

 

_ But you aren’t. _ He thought to himself.  _ Stop wallowing.  _ The drone of an engine made him look up. The rusted pick-up truck he’d learned to associate with Lance pulled up in his driveway. With a shudder, it stopped, and the driver’s door popped open and closed with a somehow antiquated sound.

 

“Hey,” Lance greeted, with a swift nod of his head. His bass was strung on his back, and Keith could see where the strap was digging into Lance’s shoulder (because he was wearing a bro tank, ew. And joggers). Keith waved halfheartedly back. This was a dance they had perfected soon after the band practices had become routine. When alone, avoid confrontation by avoiding interaction. It was awkward, sure. All the time. But Keith hadn’t made the rules. Lance and his weird ‘everyone-either-loves-me-or-hates-me’ mindset had. Keith had apparently been placed on the  _ hate _ end of the spectrum. Which was fine with him. Lance got under his skin anyway.

 

“Where’s Hunk?” Keith grunted. This avoiding-each-other thing was a lot easier with someone else to talk to.

 

“He’s with Pidge,” Lance grunted back. “They have a weird pact to teach each other their respective instruments or something. They’ll be along later, I guess. Where’s Allura?”   
  


It was a rhetorical question. They both knew she’d arrive later. She was never actually punctual. Lance called her out for being dramatic and just wanting to be fashionably late one time, and she almost murdered him. That was when the band had discovered Allura had a black belt in taekwondo. 

 

“Hey, Keith?” Lance inquired quietly, facing his truck. Keith was startled by the deviation from their usual routine and looked up.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Lance swallowed and turned, his shoulders stooped. “I, um, wanna ask you something and you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

 

“Why would I do that?” Keith replied with thick sarcasm. His hands found the strings of his guitar on his lap and strummed at them absently as he sat. Lance’s eyes followed them as they moved and Keith pretended not to notice.

 

“Shut up,” the bassist grumbled, moving his stare to the ground. “I want your help.”

 

That got Keith’s attention.

 

“What could you possibly want help with that includes me?” he sputtered. Lance’s cheeks started to turn a salmon-y color.

 

“Gee, I don’t know! Forget it.” He crossed his arms and turned away. Keith, bewildered by whatever weirdness was going on inside Lance’s head, took his mind off it by making up an impromptu tune while he waited.

 

As promised, Allura was late, and Hunk and Pidge had arrived together. They were excited, Allura had brought some finished songs from their mysterious songwriter.

 

“How many are there?” He had asked her.

 

“Only five,” Allura answered. “So far. Takashi promised more later so we can make a debut album.”

 

Pidge looked at the titles as if they disappointed them. “They’re all named after colors. Look. Blue, Green, Yellow, Red, Black.” 

 

“Yes,” Allura explained. “He wrote those first. The songs are all meant to put emphasis on a different part of our group. Black is vocals. Yellow is piano. Red is guitar, and so on. He felt that it was a good place to start. Team building, I believe is what he said.”

 

There was an amused snicker from Pidge as they looked over the Green song. Keith took Red and Black, Lance took Yellow, and Hunk looked over Blue. There was quiet as they studied their new songs. Allura had been right. Black was a lot of vocals, the guitar music was repetitive and not a high level of difficulty. He skimmed over the lyrics. Lots of uplifting we-can-all-be-friends-and-live-in-harmony stuff. Not really his jam, but he could definitely see Allura liking it.

 

The Red song was more his style. There weren’t a lot of actual words, it was a lot of Allura harmonizing with the rest of the band. The drums were crashy and wild, the keyboard was quiet, mostly only playing when Allura was singing. The bass and guitar seemed to almost be in a competition with each other. The song itself was short, vaguely angry-sounding, and loud. It was going to be difficult to learn, the chords were crazy, but he was excited for the challenge.

 

If this song had specifically been written for him, Keith was impressed. For someone who’d never met him, this Takashi guy had pegged him surprisingly accurately. He wondered when he would be able to introduce himself.

 

“I like Blue the best,” Lance announced. “It’s totally Gucci.” Keith looked up. Did Lance really just say that out loud? The guy’s ability to make a fool of himself was almost admirable.

 

“You’ve only read three of the songs,” Pidge grunted, swiping the paper from his hands. 

 

Lance scooted over to where Keith was sitting. “Keith, stop hogging and hand me the rest.” Wordlessly, he held them out. While Lance was scanning them, Keith nudged him.

 

“Hey. What were you asking about earlier?” 

 

“Why is your song so hard?” Lance whined instead of really replying.

 

“Don’t change the subject.”

 

He sighed in a way that sounded frustrated. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Later, kay?”  The look on Lance’s face was odd. It was like he was embarrassed, or something. Which was absurd, Lance never got embarrassed. Keith had seen him get sprayed in the face with lemonade, and all he’d done was laugh it off. Why did Lance always insist on being confusing? Whenever Keith was around him, all he felt was varying degrees of “ _?!?!?!” _ . Before he could say anything back, Lance was scooting back to the rest of the bunch, his face practically red. Weird.

_ _ _

 

 

Never ask Keith for anything. Lance had even specifically requested  _ not  _ to be made fun of, and what was the first thing out of that stupid mullet-head’s mouth? “Boohoo I’m Mr. Lone Wolf why would I ever help you.” Rude.

 

But he’d already made a scene of it. There was no backing out now. Ugh, this whole thing was stupid. Stupid Keith. Lance thought about all of this as he leaned on the back of his best bud. Hunk was currently trying out the notes to the Blue song. It was fast-paced, mostly in major key, and Lance had singing parts in it. The lyrics were all water-related metaphors for young love, which was probably why it was called what it was called. Soulmate junk and stuff like that. Lance loved it, even if it was a little sappy.

 

Pidge was also in Hunk’s general area, sneaking in between one of his big arms and his lap to examine him play. Lance suspected Hunk was playing slower for their benefit. 

 

They stayed like that for who knows how long. Allura went out for a call with someone important, then came back and asked Keith to play some of  _ Black _ with her. Lance pretended not to be jealous as he watched from his peripheral vision. Keith was so freaking talented. He hated it. He already had the Black song like, memorized or something. Ugh. The worst bit was that this was precisely the reason Lance had asked Keith to help him, instead of  _ literally anyone else.  _ Keith could just play. That was it. He was that one person that could be randomly asked to play something and actually do it and sound good.

 

He hated it. But even he could admit that Keith was his best option.

 

Allura was in the middle of singing the third run through of the song when she suddenly stopped and announced that she had to go. Keith had been in the middle of playing the bridge. “Sorry, guys.” She apologized, looking at her phone with eyebrows drawn like curtains over a window. Abruptly, she got up and left.

 

Everyone was still staring out of the garage, even when her car had been out of sight for more than a few moments.

 

“Huh,” Hunk finally said. “That was...not like, suspicious or anything.” 

 

“Yeah…” Pidge echoed. “Not gonna lie. Mood’s kind of dead now. Hunk, will you drive me home?”

 

“‘Course.”

 

Then they left, too. The sudden absence of them hit Lance like a brick. Now it was just him and Keith. He could guess what was coming next.

 

The latter mentioned was still sitting on the ground with his dumb leather jacket and dumb electric guitar in his lap, fiddling with the frets. Without Hunk, Pidge, and Allura around, Lance found himself hesitant to say anything. So he stalled by looking at his phone, taking a few selfies, replying to people on snapchat.  _ This was a bad idea this was a bad idea this was a bad idea. _

 

Keith stopped doing whatever he was doing and looked up. He said, “Um. Are we gonna talk about whatever it was you wanted to talk about?”

 

“Mmhmm,” Lance hummed in a high-pitched tone. God this was going to be embarrassing why did he always make a fool of himself like this, asking Keith of all people!  _ Soy un coño soy un coño soy un coño  _

 

UUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH just get it over with.

 

“I want your help to write a song for the band,” Lance blurted out. Then quickly added, “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” Now he had Keith’s full attention. The boy sat up straighter, blinking. Clearly this hadn’t been what he was expecting.

 

“Uh…” came his wonderfully coherent reply.

 

“Well?” Lance snapped, feeling his cheeks get warm with embarrassment. Why did he do this to himself?  _ Play it cool. _

 

“I thought you were gonna challenge me to a fight behind a Denny’s or something,” muttered Keith, looking down with an amused expression. 

 

“What? No! What gave you that impression?” Lance acted offended to hide the fact that he’d actually done that exact thing to Pidge before.

 

“Uh, I don’t know, the fact that you hate me? Why are you even asking  _ me _ about this? Can’t Hunk help you?”

 

Lance let out a frustrated groan. “No. The only thing Hunk can compose is a wonderful three-course meal. God bless. But--” he shook his head, getting back on topic. “I’ve seen you playing. You have experience, and you can just, you know, make stuff up. And I figured, that’s songwriting, right?” He got faster, and his voice climbed in pitch. “So I figured you’d be the best person to approach about it, and hopefully it won’t be a total disaster, maybe you won’t hate me and we can actually work together as a team and I can write the darn thing before we have a gig--”

 

“Lance,” Keith interrupted. His voice was quiet. “You’re rambling.”

 

Lance shut his mouth. He wanted to apologize but looked at Keith instead. He hadn’t said yes or no yet.  

 

Keith reclined onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, A fly buzzed somewhere nearby. 

 

“Alright,” The way he said it, it sounded like a sigh. “Let’s write a song.”

 

Lance felt like a thousand pounds had just been lifted off of his shoulders. “Great,” he replied, very relieved. He was glad Keith had at least appeared serious. If it had been Pidge, they might have made fun of him for it. As he headed toward his truck, he turned and told him, “I gotta go right now, so when do you wanna get together and start?”

 

“I don’t know,” Keith shrugged. “Just call me.”

 


	4. Africa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after the song Africa by Toto, released in 1982
> 
> this one is literally nothing but klance, enjoy

Keith didn’t actually expect Lance to go through with the song idea. Knowing Lance, the kid would forget about it by the next day.

 

He didn’t forget about it the next day. Or the next. Over the course of five days, Keith received several messages trying to schedule a time to come over. They’d finally settled on today. Five o’clock.

 

There was a sudden buzz from his pocket. He jumped, not realizing for a moment it was his phone. Somewhat annoyed, he dug it out to read the text. It was just Lance again. The closer they were to 5 PM, the more weird emojis Lance sent him. Keith had stopped replying hours ago.

 

This whole situation had him on edge. He’d barely eaten all day. He was anxious and confused because he thought that Lance couldn’t stand him but now he was asking him to write a song for the band and he couldn’t be more perplexed.

 

What was Lance’s deal? Keith hadn’t necessarily liked what his and Lance’s dynamic had turned out to be, but he’d accepted it. It had turned into the norm. And now this. Lance had managed to actually not be a jackass for more than two minutes. Keith decided that he must’ve accidentally travelled to another dimension.

 

He wanted to do something. In his rising mountain of anxiety, Keith found himself restless, agitated, needing to move. He needed an outlet for everything he was thinking.

 

Keith had to admit he liked this foster home. It was large, his foster parents left him to his own devices most of the time. Brad, his foster dad for the time being, had anger issues. But he was dealing with them in a way Keith was learning from. Downstairs they kept a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. Whenever Brad was about to blow his top, he went down and punched the crap out of it. Keith had also gotten into the habit of doing so whenever he needed something to take his mind off of things.

 

He headed down there now. As an afterthought, he pulled a hair tie from his wrist and used it to pull back his hair. It bothered him when he got too hot. But other than that, he was set. He was just wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He was sure Lance wouldn’t mind him being a little sweaty when he got here. And if he got too gross, he could always change.

 

Keith approached the punching bag with readiness. It was a familiar routine. Two punches for everything that was on his mind.

 

Lance.  _ Thud thud. _

 

The Lions.  _ Thud thud. _

 

School.  _ Thud thud. _

 

Money.  _ Thud thud. _

 

Frustration with himself.  _ Thud thud. _

 

Dad.  _ Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud--zzzzz. _

 

Keith stepped away from the punching bag in surprise, breathing heavily. With a heavy hand, he plunged into his pocket and dug out the source--his vibrating phone. Lance. 

 

 **Lance:**  your king has arrived :P

 

Keith threw his head up and let a long breath out, slowing his heartbeat. A honk sounded from outside that Keith knew was from Lance’s truck. It sounded distant from inside his house. With a quick shake of his head, he went upstairs to greet his bandmate.

 

_ _ _

  
  


Lance had never hung out with Keith alone before. Obviously.  _ But it was weird,  _ he reflected.  _ How people are different when they’re alone. _ Already he had a completely different impression of their guitarist. When he had answered the door he had looked--younger. Lance couldn’t put his finger on why. He had also looked way more approachable in a t-shirt and basketball shorts than he did when he wore skinny jeans and that dumb leather jacket he thought was cool. Lance was also struck with a realization. He didn’t know Keith at all. It started to dawn on him when he walked into Keith’s room for the first time.

 

It was nothing like what he’d expected. 

 

_ What Lance had expected: _ a dark, messy room with emo posters nailed everywhere, anarchy symbols drawn upon the walls, probably a journal somewhere spilling with Keith’s teenage angst. Maybe even a dartboard with Lance’s face taped on it. Mysterious blood stains.  _ Bring Me To Life _ by Evanescence playing in the background. Possibly the Kidz Bop version.

 

_ What he got:  _ a normal, white-walled room. There was one poster on the wall (for  _ The Cure. _ So Mr. Mullet did have music taste!) The bed was made. Keith’s guitar case was at the foot of his bed, and there was another one propped in the corner. Two guitars? The room overall had an air of normalcy and blandness that Lance found completely unexpected. The closest thing to what he’d had in mind was the leather jacket hanging off one of the bedposts. Had he ever had such an inaccurate preconception? His mom had always said he was good at reading people.

 

Well it didn’t help that Keith was completely unreadable. His face was made of cement or something. It was weird. Looking at him now, Lance couldn’t have told someone what his mood was, what he’d been doing a minute before, or anything. Total. Stranger. Like a statue made of marble.

 

Keith confused him now more than ever.

 

“So,” the aforementioned boy slid onto his bed with casual grace. “Where do you wanna start? With the song thing?” Lance slipped his backpack off his shoulders. 

 

“I didn’t need to bring my bass, did I?” Lance questioned. “I left that in the car.”

 

“No. What’s in the bag?”

 

Lance unzipped it. Inside was everything he thought he’d probably need. One notebook, three pens, two pencils, a pencil sharpener, two big erasers, three large bags of snack-y food, and a tube of pringles. Keith’s eyebrows rose higher with every object he revealed.

 

“The pringles are mine,” he said before Keith could ask. “The hot cheetos, tortilla chips, and the bugles are for general consumption.”

 

Keith took the bag of hot cheetos. “What do you want the song to be about?” he questioned as he opened it noisily.

 

Lance plopped down on the bed next to him. The bed was twin-sized, so it was a tight fit, but there was nowhere else but the floor to sit down. He took a second to think. “Man, I don’t know.”

 

Keith looked up, scowling. “You don’t  _ know? _ ”

 

“W-was I supposed to?”

 

Keith sighed. “I guess not. But it would’ve been nice if you had at least an idea before coming to me.”

 

“Well, I told you I had no idea what I was doing, and that’s exactly why I asked for  _ your _ help.” Lance looked at Keith chew on his cheetos thoughtfully. He swallowed and sat up.

 

“Alright,” he resigned. “Well, you should write about what you know. Something personal that you know first-hand. That way when you write it, you won’t be satisfied when it turns out being crap.”

 

“Hey!” Lance protested. “Are you saying that what I’m gonna write is crap? I take offense to that.” Keith shoved another handful of cheetos in his mouth.

 

“Thif if yur firf time writin’ a fong,” He said while chewing. “It’f gon’ be crap mo matter whah.” Lance crossed his arms and frowned. He didn’t want to acknowledge that Keith had a point.

 

“Okay, well. There are a lot of things I could write about. How do I know which I should choose?”

 

At this, Keith shrugged and swallowed. “That’s a choice you have to make.  _ I  _ can’t choose it, it’s  _ your _ song.”

 

Lance clicked his tongue. “Uh-huh. Well, I’m gonna go ahead and put that off for later. What else do I need to know?”

 

Keith looked up to the ceiling in thought. “Sound is important,” he grunted. “What are some bands you like? Base your sound off of ones you already like.”

 

“Beyoncé.”

 

Keith’s cold, cutting gaze slid over to Lance. “Literally anything else.”

 

He let out an offended scoff. “Rude. But I’ll let it slide this once. I like..." His gaze drifted to Keith's poster on the wall. Maybe he should say some groups that were less modern, more Keith's style. "Toto. The Police. And Journey. And...” he thought of more bands from the eighties that he liked. “Madonna.”

 

A bright red cheeto was sticking out of Keith’s mouth like a cigarette as he took over his bed. Lance was forced to perch on a corner to avoid physical contact. “Better. Those are good ones. What do you like about those bands?” Lance thought about it. He liked everything. It was hard to single anything out.

 

“I guess I like the guitar parts,” he replied weakly. ”The vibes are, I don’t know. Good.”

 

“Because we’re gonna write a song off of that.”

 

“Shut up! At least I’m trying.” 

 

“A plus for effort.” Keith muttered snarkily. Lance swatted his leg in reply. Keith shoved him back, pushing Lance off the bed. He landed on his butt with a thump. There he stayed, smiling like a goof on the floor. Keith peeked over the bed edge at him. Un-freaking-readable as always.

 

“You realize we haven’t done anything,” Keith reminded him. “All we’ve done is mess around and eat Flamin’ Hot cheetos.”

 

“ _ You’ve _ eaten cheetos,” Lance corrected. “I’ve just messed around.”

 

“Whatever. I’m going to continue to eat these. You can think about the song. Still needs a topic.” He threw him his notebook as Lance got up from the floor. He caught it and thought. What was something he could write about?

 

Musicians wrote about crap happening in their lives. Lance had a lot of crap happening in his life. It should probably not be something he didn’t want the band knowing about. What could he expose about himself that he was okay with everyone knowing? What was something they’d expect, but he could still claim as personal?

 

“I think I know what the song’s about,” he said aloud. Being Lance the Predictable is better than being Lance the Vulnerable, he reasoned.

 

“Good, ‘cuz I just finished the cheetos.” Keith threw the empty bag onto his floor, using the other hand to mess with his hair. “What is it?”

 

“I think I want it to be about unrequited love.” Keith looked at him, Lance didn’t want to meet his eyes. 

 

“I said write what you know, McClain.” was Keith’s sarcastic reply. Lance let out an offended gasp.

 

“I’m serious!” he protested. “O-M-G. I’m like, the most unrequited lover I know.”

 

Keith scoffed as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “Uh, okay. So you have an idea. Now comes the lyric writing part. Want me to play some background music for like, inspiration or something? That’s what I usually do.” Lance nodded absently, sticking the tip of his pen in his mouth as he thought. He could be even more predictable and write about Allura. He bet she wouldn’t like it. He frowned at the thought of her not liking his song. If he wanted it played, she would  _ have _ to like it, seeing that she was the singer, and it was a duet. Better to keep it vague, then.

 

Keith walked over to his radio and pushed a CD in. Lance became alert as the familiar tune whistled into his ears.

 

“Africa? Really?” he said, smiling despite himself. Keith shrugged.

 

“You said you liked  _ Toto _ . Now write the song.” The guitarist looked away, but not before Lance caught the phantom of a grin tugging at his mouth. 

 

Lance spread himself on the bed, tongue out, feet swinging. And while the chorus of  _ Africa  _ played in the background, he started to write.


	5. Voices Carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> contrary to popular belief, this fic actually also has some plot stuff that has almost nothing to do with klance
> 
> enjoy some pidge angst as i make sure my fic passes the bechdel test (jk it already did in chapter 2)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song Voices Carry by 'Til Tuesday, released in 1985

The next time  The Lions  met, it was at Allura’s house. This weekend they’d had a bit of a schedule conflict. Apparently, Keith had work all weekend and couldn’t host or come to practice.  _ Typical Keith,  _ Lance thought tiredly.  _ Making things harder.  _

 

So, they had resorted to coming to Allura’s house to hang out and practice. No. Not house. Estate. Mansion.  _ Castle.  _ Lance was in awe of it. It was a half hour out of city limits. The place was more than three times larger than his own humble abode. It made him glad that at least Keith and Allura had never seen it. Compared to this, they’d probably feel sorry for him.

 

His jaw had dropped when he caught sight of it. “Holy crow!” he exclaimed, poking his head out of the passenger-side window. “Hunk, are you seeing this?!”

 

His friend, stooped over the wheel, looked up in awe. “Yeah,” he answered. His eyes were wide. “I wish I lived here. I bet they have a huge kitchen. Think of the security system. Pidge would have a heart attack.”

 

“I’m  _ right here, _ ” protested a cranky voice from the back.

 

“Do you think Allura has a pool?” Lance wondered aloud. “I bet if she does, it has lights and a jacuzzi and everything.”

 

Allura herself was standing outside the entrance with Coran, waiting for them as Hunk pulled up.

 

“Hello!” she called out cheerfully. Coran beamed and waved. Allura, as always, looked stunningly put together in a high-waisted skirt, pastel pink blouse, and chunky-heeled ankle boots. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. Lance appreciated her dress sense immensely. Coran, unfortunately, was not dressed as stylishly. If Lance had to describe it, he looked like a golfer who had half of his outfit dunked in blacklight paint. Previous to this visit, he had not known that such a voraciously neon pink polo shirt had existed.

 

Hunk parked the car and Lance hopped out, his head swimming for a moment as his entire body stretched itself after being cramped in the car. Pidge’s mumbled grumbles could be heard as they got stuff out from the back of the car.

 

“You think Pidge will be okay? They will, won’t they?” Hunk observed quietly, coming up to Lance.

 

“For sure,” he agreed reluctantly. “I mean, it’s Pidge.”

 

“Should uh, we be worried?” His eyes slid over to Hunk’s, and they shared a mutual look of concern. “You know what today is.”

 

“Let’s just wait and see.” Lance suggested in a whisper. “Leave them alone for now. I don’t want to intrude, or make them feel worse.” Hunk shrugged in agreement before going over to help Pidge carry their drumset.

 

“I got it,” they snapped as he approached. Hunk backed away immediately and got the other instruments instead. Lance grabbed his case and approached Allura.

 

“I’m so glad you all could come,” she said kindly. “Well, with exception of Keith. But it is a pleasure to have you all as guests. Welcome!” With that, she twirled and opened the doors to her home like an overly-enthusiastic tour guide. Lance couldn’t stop an astonished gasp from escaping his mouth.

 

It was so  _ big  _ inside. Just as nice as it appeared on the outside. The room he looked into was some kind of entrance hall, who even had entrance halls anymore? He made sure to take his shoes off. Where had Allura gotten all this money? And why did she live here instead of France or something?

 

From behind him there was an equally impressed “Whoaaa,” from Hunk. “You guys,” he exclaimed with a grin. “You have such a nice home! How many people live here? Do you have brothers and sisters, Allura?”

 

There was a strange moment of quiet before Allura told them that it was just her and Coran. Her mood seemed less enthusiastic after that. Then she took them all on a small tour. She showed them the games room, the bathrooms, the courtyard, the backyard, the kitchen, and then finally, the room they were all there for. 

 

“This is the music room,” she introduced. “It used to be for some other people, but I’ve made some adjustments to make it more personalized for our usage.”

 

The room was spacious, with one wall acting as a huge window facing the outside. In the center there was a large circular couch, and a coffee table. To the left, there were two vending machines and sound recording booth. To the right, there was a wall of shelves that held an abundance of things all needed for music production.

 

“Why have we been having practices at  _ Keith’s _ house?” Lance exclaimed exasperatedly.”This is so much cooler than his dusty old garage!”

 

“Well, the renovations took a little longer than I planned,” Allura replied, her manicured hands clasped in front of her. “I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“This is so cool!” commented Hunk from the side. “Thank you so much, Allura!”

 

She looked happy. Lance liked her smile, it reminded him of his own mother’s. Warm and wise. It was kind of crazy that he was thinking that about the same woman who’d insulted him the first time they’d met, and also judo-flipped him once. 

 

“Too bad Keith can’t be here,” Hunk whined. “He’d love this.”

 

“Work is work,” Allura said with a sigh.

 

“Lance could be here,” Pidge said bitterly into their phone. “And he has like, three jobs. I bet Keith could make it.”

 

“Pidge,” Lance warned as gently as he could. “Now is not the time. I know that things aren’t great right now, but you can’t take it out on us.”

 

The percussionist looked up from their screen and scowled. “I see what you’re doing. Don’t you even try to make--” their voice cracked, and they cleared their throat. “Make things better.” Lance’s eyebrows drew together.

 

“Pidge--”

 

“Shut up, Lance! I don’t wanna talk about it!” Their outburst left a heavy silence behind.

 

_ _ _

 

Allura watched all this happen with confusion. Make what better? Clearly, something had happened that she was unaware of. She was out of the loop. And normally she would _stay_ out of it, but it was causing disharmony in their band. If a band had to have one thing, it was harmony. This could not be allowed to fester.

 

“Pidge,” Allura called. “You’re good with computers, yes?”

 

The small teen looked up to their vocalist with a sneer. “Yeah. Why.”

 

“The thought just came to me that I have an issue with our computers. I could realllllly use your help.” Her face stretched into a sparkling smile. “Please?” Pidge rolled their eyes.

 

“Whatever,” they grunted. Allura noted with pleasure that they followed her when she started walking. “So what’s the problem?” they asked gruffly.

 

“Um….” Allura took her time and waited until they were in front of a pair of doors to answer. “It’s in here.” Pidge took no time going in. Allura followed.

 

“There are no computers in here,” deadpanned Pidge, looking around in distaste as Allura shut the doors behind them. “This is a courtyard.”

 

It was. Surrounding them were plants of all variations, and somewhere unseen was a trickling waterfall that Allura knew fell into a koi pond. Above them, there was no ceiling. Only a cloudy sky.

 

“Yes,” agreed Allura. “I lied. Sorry.” The drummer moaned.

 

“Then why bring me here?”

  
“Something is bothering you.” 

 

They fixed a glare on her. “That’s none of your business.” The words might as well have been acid.

 

“No. But the band is. And you’re causing unnecessary conflict within it. I want to help you.” Allura reassuringly rested a hand on Pidge’s shoulder, only to have it shoved off.

 

“You wanna know the problem, Allura?” Pidge’s face was angry, but their voice was weak and quivering. “My brother is dead and today is his birthday. That’s the problem. Are you--are you happy now?” They sat on the ground and put their face in their palms. Allura felt a surge of something--not pity, not sadness, not sympathy-- slice through her heart. Understanding? Grief? Dread? Somehow a mixture of the three. Slowly, she kneeled next to them. Pidge wasn’t crying, but they were close.

 

“Pidge,” Allura started hesitantly. “Four years ago, my father was killed.” They looked up and started to apologize, but Allura cut them off with a hand held up. “My father was  _ murdered _ . I still have issues with myself stemming from that. And I just want to say that while our situations are far from the same, I can understand what losing someone close to you is like. And I’m here, if you need to talk about what happened.” Allura had chosen the courtyard for this discussion because it was calming and private. Of course, there had been no indications that this would’ve gotten as personal as it did so quickly. The decision for privacy had equal shares of gratitude from both parties of the conversation. After all, voices carry.

 

Pidge’s lip quivered as they looked into their lap. “His...his name was Matt.”

 

And that was how it started. Pidge just kept talking, telling Allura that Matt had been their best friend, their rock. They had loved him. They told her about how hard it had been on him when their father was diagnosed with cancer, and how the tragedy of his death had sent Matt reeling.

 

“He was never the same after that,” Pidge said softly. “None of us were, but...Matt took it the worst. And then Hunk’s moms were enlisted and then  _ my _ mom started going off the deep end and I--it’s been so much. It was too much. Matt, he--he wasn’t doing so hot.”

 

Then he had been killed. 

 

“It wasn’t even his fault. It was--it was a mistake. He was walking home from work when he...he was--was--” Tears started welling in Pidge’s eyes. Allura rubbed their back reassuringly. After a moment of recollecting themselves, they continued. “That gang. The Galra, or whatever. They were in a street fight with another gang and a stray bullet hit my brother in the back of his head. Ambulance got there too late.”

 

Pidge’s voice broke and they shielded their face with their hands again. The percussionist took a few heaving breaths before continuing, choked-up,  “He would’ve been twenty-one today.”

 

Their voice was laced with grief and sadness that Allura recognized in herself. She sounded the exact same way whenever she spoke of her father, or Altea. People she loved and would never get back. And Pidge felt the same pain. With a fierce protectiveness that surprised even herself, she pulled Pidge into a tight hug. And after a moment’s hesitation, they squeezed back.

 

“Thanks for listening,” they mumbled into Allura’s shirt.

 

“I’ll be here,” she replied. “You can always talk to me.”

 

“And anytime you need to talk about your father--”

 

Allura’s breath hitched and almost immediately she squeezed the air out of Pidge before they could finish. “That’s kind of you. Do you think you can practice today?” She thrust out Pidge to an arm’s length, vainly trying to calm the cowlick on the side of their head.

 

Pidge pushed their glasses up and kindly swatted Allura’s hand away. “I’ll be okay.”

 

Allura nodded reassuringly and stood. “Then we should get back to Lance and Hunk. There are only so many bad jokes Coran has, you know. Sooner or later, he’s going to run out and start repeating them. He’s like a broken record player sometimes.”

 

_ _ _

 

 

When Pidge and Allura came back to the music room, the scene was very...odd. Hunk was cackling uncontrollably, and for some reason spawled out on the floor. Lance might as well have been dead, he was so still, his face buried in the couch as he laid haphazardly across it. Coran himself had a bottle full of indeterminate liquid in his hand and a quizzical expression

 

“Er...Coran?” Allura asked, silently looking for an answer. Coran turned his head and emitted a high-pitched scream.

 

“ALLURA! HELLO! I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU BACK SO SOON!”

 

Her eyebrows dropped down with suspicion. “What did you do?”

 

“I made our guests custom drinks! But Lance took one sip and...well,” he gestured to the boy in the couch. “He ah, he spit it out all over himself. It was quite mortifying. To be fair, I did say that my famous Nunvill is an aquired taste. Now I believe Lance is trying to act like it didn’t happen.”

 

Allura heard a quiet snicker from her side. Pidge was covering their mouth with a hand and struggling not to erupt into laughter. There was a light in their amber eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. It was clear to her, if not to Pidge, that this was their family now. Lance, Hunk, Keith, even her and Coran. They all loved and supported Pidge, and Pidge did the same for them. She thought back to when they had first met, and how unsure Pidge had been about joining. There was still much about her bandmate that she didn't know. But in time, she knew Pidge would open up to her and the rest of The Lions. Amiably, Allura put a hand on Pidge’s shoulder and asked the others good-naturedly, “Can we actually start practice now?” 


	6. I'm So Excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation of the keith/red cheeto love affair previously seen in chapter 4
> 
> this chapter is named after the song I'm So Excited by The Pointer Sisters, released in 1982.
> 
> link to the song Lance sings halfway through the chapter. Enjoy!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GIdNb0R3D4

**mulletman:** Change of plans. Can I actually come over to your house for the songwriting?

**Me:** uhh is it absolutely necessary

**mulletman:** If you still want to meet today, yeah.

**Me:** ur sure

**mulletman:** Wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t.

**Me:** fiiiiiine but warning u now my house succs

**Me:** *sucks 

 

Lance skimmed over his phone conversation for the tenth time as he laid on his stomach. There was a child on his back playing with a doll, and to whom they belonged Lance was unsure. He was afraid to move, though. This was inconvenient, seeing as Keith would be here any moment. God, Keith would be here any moment. Keith would be in his house. Lance hoped to God that Keith had the decency not to make any rude comments about his house. In front of his mother at  _ least.  _ It wasn’t that Lance was ashamed of where he lived. He loved his home. But he was...apprehensive. To let people see it. He just didn’t want it to affect what they thought of him. He didn’t want pity.

 

But he wasn’t worried about pity with Keith. Keith ‘I-Got-Expelled’ Kogane. (Yeah, Lance had googled him. Apparently, Keith had had discipline issues, or something? Cool-Guy-Kogane strikes again.) Lance was worried about  _ judgement. _ He was legitimately nervous that Keith would be cruel. 

 

The abrupt lack of weight on his back alerted him that the kid had slid off of him and had scurried out of the room.  Suddenly able to move again, he stretched and grabbed his ukulele. It had a knack for calming him when he was nervous, and right now he was nervous. Quietly, he began to strum the familiar chords of a song he had learned long ago. 

 

_ _ _

 

Keith arrived at the address Lance had sent him, and he had to double check that it was the right place. The building was...different. The entire place was one floor, small, and run-down. There were three weathered-looking cars out front, one of which being the baby blue pick-up that Keith knew was Lance’s. That confirmed it. This was definitely the right location. There was no paved sidewalk leading up to the entrance, instead there was a bricked path. None of the bricks were the exact same shade. He found it kind of pretty, if a little shabby (Kind of like Lance, when he wasn’t busy being annoying).

 

He went up to ring the doorbell, but instead there was just a piece of silver duct tape, with the word “KNOCK!” written in black permanent marker.

 

Keith knocked.

 

A small child yelled from within, and Keith heard the muffled deep bark of a dog. The door was whisked open, and Keith found himself face-to-face with a stern-looking middle aged woman.

 

“Hi,” he greeted with a weak wave. “Is Lance around…?” 

 

The woman rolled her eyes before turning her head and yelling something in rapid Spanish. Another, shorter woman in yellow appeared.

 

“Keith?” she asked. He nodded. She continued to usher him through the house. There was a tremendous ruckus coming from somewhere else in the vicinity, and Keith stepped on more than one toy as they walked to a staircase that led down. “First door to your right,” she said simply, before turning away to hurry somewhere else.

 

The change was almost theatrical as he descended the stairs. The walls around him must’ve been thick, because it felt like every downward step he took made the noise from above dissipate more. By the time he was down the whole staircase, the yells had become murmurs.

 

Instead, there was a new sound. Somewhere someone was playing ukulele and singing. It sounded really pretty. Keith tugged on the strap of his guitar case uncertainly. He felt like he was intruding. He should just find Lance. Hadn’t she said first door to the right? He looked over to it. It was slightly cracked open and….Keith’s jaw unhinged slightly. Lance’s room was the blatant source of the music. As he got closer, he could just make out the lyrics of the song.

 

_ “How can you deny me, and close another door?”  _  How come Lance didn’t sing like this in practice?

_ “Your words, they cut right through me, still I’m standing by for more...”  _ In practice, Lance sang loud and throaty and barely kept to the lyrics.

 

_ “Deep denial, a vacant smile. I try to call you in, but I...should know better.”  _ But here, Lance’s voice was...soft. It sounded really good. Like, really good. Was this the song he’d been writing? No, it couldn’t be.

 

_ “One day, you’ll see, that you and I are meant to be. You say it’s over. But baby I can’t let you win.”  _ Keith had always just assumed he was a better singer than Lance. All evidence he had had pointed to that conclusion. It was why he’d scoffed when Lance had said that he wanted the song to be a duet between him and Allura. That, and the pure corniness of it.

 

_ “And I guess I’ll always love you, anyway-way-ay-ay-ayyy...”  _ But Lance had just proved him wrong. Undeniably wrong.

 

The music drifted to a stop, and Keith heard Lance take a deep breath. He took that as his opportunity to knock. There was a loud swear from Lance and a painful-sounding thud. The door whisked open. Lance was there, winded for some reason.

 

“Keith?!” he exclaimed loudly, failing at not looking embarrassed. “What’re you doing here?!”   
  


“You invited me.” he deadpanned. He didn’t understand why Lance was embarrassed. Was he flustered because Keith had overheard him singing? “I heard you playing,” he added earnestly. “It was really good.”

 

Lance’s face somehow got more scrunched up and tomato-y colored. He mumbled something and moved aside, leaving the doorway wide open. Keith took that as his cue to enter, looking around Lance’s room with interest.

 

His first impression is that it was small. The ceiling was low and the walls were dark, making it seem tinier than it probably was. Keith’s second impression was that it wasn’t just Lance’s room. There was a bunk bed, and Keith started to see a very clear distinction between what was Lance’s and what was not. Lance very clearly had claim over the bottom bunk. All over the wall the bed was pushed against were taped pictures of his friends and family. A few other pictures were there too. Mostly of beaches. There was a small desk with a chunky radio and lamp to the left, and a closet to the right. Lance collapsed on his unmade bed, and gestured for Keith to take the chair sitting at the desk.

 

“Who else lives in here?” questioned Keith. Lance’s shoulders slumped like he’d hoped Keith wouldn’t notice. He scratched the back of his head.

  
“My older brother Joaquim. But he’s working, so he’s somewhere else most of the time. Don’t worry, we’ll have the room to ourselves.”

 

“Oh, okay. What’s he do?”

 

“Truck driver.” He said it fast, like he wanted to change the subject. And then he did. With a flourish, he revealed a giant sized bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos from under his pillow and tossed them to Keith. He caught it gingerly, his mouth watering.

 

“You’re welcome,” Lance said, before Keith had the chance to thank him. Lance seemed to be looking everywhere but Keith.

 

“What, no bugles?” he asked instead, intending it as a joke. Lance’s quick glance away and deepened frown told him the bassist hadn’t taken it that way.

 

“Just eat your stupid cheetos,” he muttered, reaching behind him to grab his notebook. Keith leaned forward to peek at the page as he opened his bag.

 

“How much have you written since we met up last week?”

 

“Nada. Sorry.” Keith examined his bandmate skeptically. Lance looked extremely uncomfortable. Whether he knew it or not, his body language was the picture of a cornered animal. His expression was hostile, his arms were crossed against his chest and his legs were drawn in close. They weren’t going to get anything done like this.

 

“What’s bugging you?” he decided to ask.

 

Lance took a deep breath and uncrossed his arms. “Nothing.” A complete and utter lie, and they both knew it. Keith didn’t dignify the lie with a reply, instead continuing to peer at his bandmate with a judging expression, waiting. Lance’s pout was quickly dissolving as he crumbled underneath Keith’s steely glare.

 

“Stop looking at me like that!” he suddenly called out, eyeing daggers at Keith. “What’s your damage?”

 

“Lance,” Keith replied steadily. “We’re not gonna do anything productive unless you get over whatever’s bothering you.”

 

“Nothing. Is bothering me.” He grumbled stubbornly, looking down at the bed covers.

 

Keith scoffed and got up. “I guess I’m leaving then. I’m not going to waste my time.” He started to the door, but was stopped as something pulled at his shirt from behind. 

 

“Ohgodpleasedon’tleavethat’djustmakeitevenworseohgodI’mreallynervousaboutyouropiniononmyhouseandmyfamilyandIfeelreallybadbecauseIcouldonlyaffordthecheetosthisweekandthisiswhyIdidn’twantyoutocomeover--”   
  


“Whoa. Lance, Lance, stop.” Keith held out his hands in a calming gesture and turned around. Lance let go of his shirt. “Just. Shut up.” Lance took a deep breath.

 

“Sorry,” he said after a second. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Did you say that you were worried about what I’d think of your house?” Lance mutely nodded. “Dude,” Keith reassured. “Your house is fine. It’s just like, different. But a good different. I’m usually alone, at home. Both of my foster parents are really busy, so….why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“You didn’t say you were a foster kid,” Lance replied softly. His eyes were big.

 

“...Uh. Is that a problem?”

 

“No! Nononono. That’s just--do you--do you wanna talk about it?” Lance was looking at Keith  like he was a starving puppy on the street. It made him feel a little sick.

 

“I do not.” he replied curtly, swiping hair out of his face. He didn’t want Lance’s pity. He didn’t need it, and it would kill the mood if he talked about it anyway. 

 

Not that they’d even had a mood. Lance had already managed to murder it quite effectively, but whatever. Keith sat back down and took his guitar case off his back. “You wanna write, or what?” he asked at Lance’s troubled expression.

 

“Um...yeah. Yeah.” Lance took his notebook and flipped it to a page. He looked over at Keith, and more pointedly, at his instrument. “Have I seen that guitar before?”

 

“Nope. It’s my acoustic.” He held it out on his lap. He really did love his acoustic guitar. Lately he hadn’t been playing it, in favor of his electric for band practice. It hadn’t always been his, of course. Before then, it’d been his father’s. Experimentally, he strummed the strings to see if it was tuned.

 

“So you have two guitars?” Lance questioned, his mouth open like this was somehow special.

 

“Yup. Bought the electric like a month or two ago with money I saved up from work.”

 

“Where do you work?”

 

“Hot Topic.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Keith had known it had been a mistake.

 

“PFFFFFFTTTT OH MY GOD, REALLY?!” Lance erupted into laughter, bending over with the effort as his shoulders shook violently.

 

“Shut up!” Keith growled, his face already starting to heat. “I started working there when I was a freshman. I thought it was cool! I’m just like, too invested to quit now, you know? It’s a good job.”

 

“YOU’RE AN EDGY TAYLOR SWIFT!”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“THE MULLET, THE ACOUSTIC GUITAR, THE EYELINER, IT ALL MAKES SENSE.”

 

“I don’t wear--”

 

“KEITH,” Lance heaved, failing at silencing his giggles. “That’s...you don’t...understand...how funny that is…”

 

“I think I can.”

  
“Well  _ I  _ think you just made my day,” he sighed. “Yeah...that’s your new contact name.”

 

“What was it before?!” Keith exclaimed.

 

“Mulletman.”

 

He groaned as Lance bubbled with renewed cackles.   
  


“Okay,” Lance wheezed, still trying to quell his laughter. “We should get back on track. There was actually something I wanted to mention. So I was writing, and I realized that when I tried writing about unrequited love, I wasn’t getting it right. Like, it wasn’t working.” He frowned at the paper like it was somehow it’s fault. “It’s like, the lyrics I wanted to write wouldn’t manifest into...the right words. I don’t know. Does that make sense?” Lance rolled over on his bed and stared at Keith continuing to tune his guitar.

 

“Yeah,” Keith grunted after a beat. “This is your first time writing a song, you’re not gonna be good at it. It’s just like I said last time. Do you have anything you think is good?”

 

Lance chewed on his lip and looked at his notebook. “Yeah, um. There’s one thing that I’ve kept. It’s uh,” he frowned, eyes slicing between Keith and the notebook. “Here, just read it,” he muttered, shoving the paper into Keith’s face. He took it with interest, realizing he was kind of excited to see what Lance had come up with.  _ I’m excited to write the song, _ Keith realized.  _ I’m...excited to write it with Lance? To see how it turns out?  _ Keith turned his attention to the flipped-open page.

 

It took him a second to process what was exactly happening on it. There were scribbles everywhere, and Keith discovered that Lance’s handwriting was very sloppy. Things were crossed out, it looked like several nonfunctional pens had been tested in the margins. He took a moment to make out what Lance had scribbled down. The two verses he had were in alternating different colors, Keith guessed it was for the duet Lance wanted between him and Allura. Either that, or one of the pens had run out of ink. Keith didn’t know which was more in-character of the bassist.

 

_ I’m starting to think that you won’t catch on _

_ Baby, I’m not being discreet _

_ Hurry now, I’m ready to latch on _

_ And I’m not a man who cheats _

 

_ This love, I’ve come to realize _

_ Is awfully one sided _

_ I find myself lost in your eyes _

_ Your glare has me blinded _

 

Keith was impressed as he read along it. He had to admit, it was better than he’d expected. His eyes flicked up at Lance, a small smile spread across his face. It seemed like Lance had a knack for lyrics, if anything. The bassist caught his gaze nervously.

 

“What?” he asked anxiously, fiddling with his hands. “Is it bad? Why are you smiling like that?”

 

“Because I like it, idiot. How’s it gonna go?”

 

“I was thinking a mix between Til Tuesday’s  _ Voices Carry  _ and Fleetwood Mac’s  _ Gypsy _ . It’s uh, hard to explain. Here, just let me do it for you.” He cleared his throat, and Keith got his guitar ready on his lap. Lance started to sing it. The song so far sounded like what Lance had wanted. Fast, but still understandable, and a lot of minor keys.  Lance stopped when he got to the end. “I’m probably gonna change some more of that,” he muttered, licking his lips. “The first verse is supposed to be me. I figured Allura and I would just switch off every other verse.” Keith nodded absently, thinking about what he’d just heard. His finger strummed a chord, and then another, and another, and suddenly he had a melody. Lance stopped muttering to himself as Keith kept it going.

 

“What do you think about this?” he asked Lance, still playing. The other boy listened for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. 

 

“No, no I think it should be lower.” Keith moved down an octave.

 

“Like that?” Lance watched Keith fingers move across the guitar’s neck.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like that. With drums I think it could sound really nice. Can you like, write that down, or..?” Keith stopped strumming and reached for the notebook to scribble down the notes. While he was doing that, Lance leaned over to do something out of his range of sight. His shirt rode up as he stretched over the bed, exposing a little patch of skin at the base of his back. Keith forgot what he was doing for a minute and stared at it. Then Lance was up again, holding something in both of his hands. It was a bulky, old and scrappy radio tape player. It looked like something from Keith’s childhood. Lance also had a cassette tape in his hand, and with ease he popped it inside. “Er, hope you don’t mind,” Lance added as a familiar beat started to play. “We listened to music last time so I thought you’d wanna do it again this time?” Keith recognized the song a few seconds after it started to play. 

 

“The Pointer Sisters. This is a good song,” he muttered, looking up from the notebook still in his hands. “I haven’t heard it in a while. Very you, though.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Lance grinned at Keith in a way he hadn’t seen before. The smile wasn’t cocky, or teasing, or flirty. It was genuine, and nice, and happy. It was obvious just from the look of Lance’s face that he was having fun and liked that he and Keith shared a similar music taste. Keith realized that he preferred how plainly Lance wore his emotions right then. It was by far favorable to the confusing one-sided rivalry Lance had somehow constructed, and always seemed to be in play when they weren’t alone.

 

“Hey, Keith,” Lance said over the quiet music. “You know, you’re not quite as horrible as I first thought.” Lance was staring at him blatantly, with an honest expression. “You’re actually kind of cool. I um, appreciate you being chill about this whole songwriting thing. I know it’s kind of weird, but I’m excited.” Lance was still looking at him, making direct eye contact. He had never realized how blue Lance’s eyes were before. “I guess I’m trying to say I’m sorry I thought you were more of a jerk than you actually were?”

 

“Yeah, well.” Keith replied. He found it hard to say what he wanted to. “It’s mutual. I guess. You thought I was a jerk? What’d I do?” Lance laughed softly and scratched the back of his head. He looked kind of embarrassed by it. He made up for it by scooting over and patting the spot next to him for Keith to come sit. Keith did. Lance’s mattress was soft.

 

“I dunno.” Lance started. Their knees were touching.”I guess I just made the assumption you were one because you had a bike, and a mullet, and played lead guitar, and are super good at it. Mysterious, angry rock star types are always jerks in the movies. Not to mention you are sometimes  _ brutally  _ honest. Like, seriously. You did not need to tell Hunk that he looked like a choking turtle in his new shirt. He was just trying out something new,”

 

“He did though,” Keith added. Lance snorted.

 

“Well--yeah, but that’s not the point. You made Hunk feel bad, even if it was just temporarily and he forgave you.”

 

“But he got rid of the shirt.” Keith replied with a shrug. Lance snorted again, shaking from laughter he tried to hide. A small smile worked its way onto Keith’s face as he watched the boy struggle with his own amusement.

 

“Stop being funny. I’m the funny one.”

 

“Wow, I guess you're right. That was a really funny joke. Look, I'm cackling.”

 

“Shut up,” Keith felt a little pleased being the recipient of that lazy grin, the one he’d noticed Lance only reserved for close friends. “We should probably actually do something,” Lance suggested, letting out a deep breath. “Whenever we decide to be productive, we always end up messing around. Have you noticed that?”

 

“Hmmm, yeah,” Keith replied in mock seriousness. “Buuut I really can’t be productive until after that bag of cheetos is gone.” He eyed it from its resting place. “And it’s not like we haven’t done stuff already...”

 

“I bet I could eat more cheetos than you.” Lance muttered.

 

“You bet?”

 

“Yeah, I bet. You’re a slow cheeto-eater.”

 

“Well, I think you’re slower,” Keith replied. Lance lunged for the cheetos, but Keith was faster. He rose them above both of their heads. Lance was already practically on top of him, reaching for it.

 

“Ha!” Lance cried in victory. “You forgot I’m taller!” He snatched the bag and plunged his fingers into it, coming out with a handful of red and stuffing it into his mouth. “WHA’RE YOU WAIDIN’ FOR?” Lance yelled through all the food. “STARH EADIN, MULLEH MAN.”


	7. Boys Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remember when i mentioned coran had angst in the tags  
> see if you can guess which scene in season one this is inspired by :) :) :)
> 
> this chapter is named after the song Boys Don't Cry by The Cure (1984)

Something had to be wrong with Allura. That is what Lance had determined when he rushed inside band practice and saw Coran’s less-than-jubilant expression. It couldn’t be that Lance was dripping all over the floor from the rain, could it? There were very few things that could wipe the smile off the man’s face; Allura was the only one Lance was aware of.

 

As Hunk and Pidge passed Coran on the way in, Lance paused. “Hey,” he murmured to him quietly. “You alright?” 

 

“Could you really tell that easily?” the man sighed forlornly, looking down. “Am I that transparent?”

 

“Nah,” Lance assured, with a clap on the shoulder. “My mom always says I’m good at reading people. What’s up, Coran my man? Is Allura okay?”

 

Coran’s shoulders slumped even further. “How did you know?” Lance steered them away from where the others were heading. 

 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He suggested, peeking into a room. “Can we go in here?”

 

“That’s the sunroom,” Coran stated. “Sure.” They went inside.

 

The room was mid-sized, circular, and completely composed of windows. If it had been sunny, the sun would’ve shined through at optimal brightness, breaching every centimeter of the room. In the middle of the space, sitting in the lush carpet, was a comfortable love seat and an armchair. Lance launched himself at the loveseat, making an audible sound of happiness when he felt his body practically melt into it.

 

“You spend your money well,” he crooned to Coran, who had moved to sit in the armchair. Lance stared at the glass ceiling, marvelling how pretty it looked with the rain pattering onto it. The drops of water on the glass made a music that couldn’t be replicated. Lance closed his eyes in serenity for a few moments, enjoying the sound in his ears. There was something about rain that just...made him happy.

 

Coran sighed like he felt the same. In the natural light, he didn’t look as old as he probably was. It was forgiving, and made his wrinkles softer, his eyes less haunting. Lance looked at him, silently giving him the signal to start unloading.

 

“Music has always been Allura’s life,” he started. “When she was little, she was so talented. We all knew it. Her father put her in music lessons as soon as she could walk. She was a star. She still is...but ever since the death of her father, and the breakup of her first band, Altea, she’s never been the same.”

 

“Whoa, whoa.” Lance sat up, alarmed. “Death of her father?”

 

Coran nodded gravely. “He was murdered.”

 

“That’s horrible! Poor Allura...how--how did it happen?”

 

Coran stroked his mustache thoughtfully. If Lance had to guess, he was thinking about whether to disclose this personal information to Lance. He sighed. “He was found with a shot wound in his hotel room when they were on tour. It was very lucky that Allura wasn’t with her father at the time of the murder. They were sharing a room, but she was...elsewhere.”

 

“Who was on tour? Allura? Or her dad?”

 

Coran grimaced, as if this part was hard for him. “Both. Altea was started by Allura and Alfor. They recruited some other members. One of which, Allura is convinced killed her father.”

 

Lance’s jaw dropped lower. In a low voice, he said, “Are you implying they haven’t found the murderer? Exactly how long ago did this happen?” He could feel his questions pounding into Coran, and knew that these memories weren’t the most pleasant to remember. But against his better judgement, Lance kept poking. “Who does she suspect?”

 

Coran swallowed. “The morning they found the...the body, a band member named Zarkon went missing. This was five or so years back. We assumed for a little bit that he’d been killed too, there was blood in his hotel room and signs of a struggle. But about a year after...Zarkon resurfaced as a gang leader. For the Galra.” Lance could see it happening in his brain. Coming back to your hotel room, thinking everything was fine. Coran had said they had found out in the morning. Had Allura come in late at night, assumed her father was asleep on his bed in the dark, and then gone straight to sleep? Thinking everything was okay? Had she slept soundly next to the corpse of her own father?

 

The name of the gang left a bad taste in Lance’s mouth. Eyebrows drooping, he added, “That’s the gang that killed Pidge’s brother.” 

 

“Yes,” the older man agreed softly. “And Pidge told her that awhile ago. She handled it with grace back then, but time has allowed the emotions to fester. I’ve heard her having nightmares and I’m worried that...the cycle will start again.” Lance’s silence invited Coran to continue.

 

“The police couldn’t prove anything because Zarkon had a solid alibi. Allura felt personally betrayed. More than anyone else in the band, myself included. I was their techie. Since Zarkon’s reveal as a gang leader, she’s been obsessing about how to prove he was her father’s murderer. It’d calmed down in the past year, but I think Pidge’s story reignited her resolve to bring Zarkon to justice...and now he’s untouchable in the city. The cops can’t get to him. I don’t want this obsession to go too far and possibly get her in over her head. It got so bad at one point that she...she hallucinated that Alfor was there, telling her Zarkon was his killer. More than once. She’s not as invincible as she thinks.”

 

Coran dispelled a long breath from his lungs, running a hand down the back of his head. “I’m the only one left for her. I was really hoping The Lions would be a new start. Did you know that she didn’t sing? After Alfor’s death, she didn’t sing. For four years, she didn’t sing. Until she met Takashi.”

 

“Who’s Takashi, again?” Lance interrupted. “The guy who writes all our songs, right?” Coran affirmed it with a nod.

 

“Yes. I had Allura going to therapy sessions to help her heal. It appears that he was going to the same person. They met, and have been friends since. He was the one to suggest Allura put a band together. He’s the reason you’re all here.”

 

Lance stuck his tongue in his cheek, mulling all the information he’d just been given over in his head. It was like Allura was an entirely new person. A troubled person. He would be lying if his heart didn’t hurt for her. Why did all the pretty ones hog the sad backstories? First Keith, now Allura. He sure knew how to pick ‘em.

 

Wait what

 

“Lance?” Coran asked. “Why do you look angry?”

 

“What?” Lance realized just then that his eyes were practically bulging out of his skull, and his eyebrows were pointed downward to his scowling mouth. Quickly, he schooled his expression into something that more resembled his mood. He would have to think about what just happened there later. Lance apologized with a laugh. “Guess I was just thinking too hard.”

 

“About what?”

 

Lance inhaled deeply before looking Coran straight in the eye. “Coran, you said you put Allura into therapy?”

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “When she was 18. Why?”

 

“Well, you’ve talked an awful lot about how Allura’s felt about this whole deal, but you haven’t mentioned yourself. How are  _ you  _ doing? It sounds like Allura’s been getting plenty of help, but you haven’t gotten any at all.” Lance said it slowly, realizing he had no idea how the man would react. He and Coran had a friendly relationship, but this was the first serious conversation they’d had since the band had started. Lance thought he had a pretty good handle on Coran’s personality, but what if he was wrong? He’d been wrong with Keith, why couldn’t Coran be the same?

 

The man was silent for a few moments, appearing to be in deep reflection. His hand unconsciously reached up to stroke his mustache.

 

“You’re right,” he said after a while. “I haven’t thought about myself at all. I’ve been too preoccupied with hoping Allura would be alright and helping her to even think about what the event did to me, psychologically.”

 

“Coran,” Lance interjected softly, “That’s not healthy. I think you’re coping amazingly well. Even so, I would still see someone about it. With a thing like that happening to you, I mean, my opinion is far from professional, but--”

 

“No, no.” Coran held up a hand to stop Lance from backpedaling. “You’re right. I think that...maybe I did that because I wanted to avoid my own feelings.” Coran’s eyes were wet in the dim lighting of the sunroom. Lance hoped the man wouldn’t cry. He was no good when people started crying.

 

“Do you need to be alone, or...?” He left the question hanging.

 

Coran closed his eyes for a few seconds before suddenly standing and brushing his thighs with his hands. “No,” he answered. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for this talk, Lance. It was surprisingly mature of you. I hope you realized just how much you’ve helped in the span of….what’s it been? Fifteen minutes?” He checked the watch at his wrist.

 

“No problem,” Lance said, brushing it off. “It’s not a big deal.” He stood with Coran, and made to move past him. But Coran stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“No,” Coran replied. “It  _ was _ a big deal. Thank you for letting me talk about what happened. And anytime you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me. No matter what it is. I swear.”

 

There was a steeliness in Coran’s dark eyes that Lance found reassuring. It reminded him of Hunk. Coran was a rock Lance knew he could tether himself to.

 

“I’ll keep you to that,” he replied solemnly, holding out his fist.

 

Coran just looked at it.

 

“Y-you bump it. With your fist. Fist bump.”

 

“Oh.”

 

It was the most awkward fist bump Lance had ever experienced.

 

“You wanna head to practice?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

When Lance and Coran came into the practice room, it was chaos. Hunk spotted the newcomers from his hiding place behind the couch. He was close to crying.

 

“Do something!” He wailed, gesturing uselessly to the main event.

 

Pidge, Allura and Keith were locked in a furious argument. They were yelling words at each other that Lance couldn’t catch because their voices kept overlapping and going over each other.

 

And then Keith threw a punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	8. Overkill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which allura kinda goes off the deep end
> 
> This chapter is named after the song Overkill by Men at Work (1983)

Hunk had been having a good day until band practice. He’d been having a stellar one, actually. Earlier that day he’d gotten a free fro-yo. It had been delicious. And then he’d gotten to pet not one, not two, but  _ three  _ dogs on the walk home, so yeah, he was pretty jazzed to go jam with his buds.

 

This was not a jam. It couldn’t even be classified as a jelly. As soon as they arrived, Lance pulled Coran aside and they muttered to each other quietly. Hunk followed Pidge to the band room, but he looked back, concerned. “Shouldn’t we wait for Lance and Coran?” He questioned. Pidge glanced back and shrugged as the pair walked off into a hallway.

 

“Eh. They’ll be along eventually.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” He and Pidge entered the recording studio. Allura was in the center of the room, doing vocal warm-ups that were swiftly cut off when she realized they were there. Hunk smiled and waved, Pidge raised a peace sign in greeting. Allura nodded to him, and said hello to Pidge. He and Allura really hadn’t had time to develop a close relationship yet, not like he and the rest of the band had. He’d even managed to hit it off right away with Keith, so he was pretty certain that he and Allura just needed to get to know each other. Today she looked different. Her hair wasn’t as immaculate as usual. She wore it down, and had chosen to wear loose fitting clothes that Hunk didn’t normally associate with her usual aesthetic.

 

“Where’s Lance?” she inquired in her crisp accent. Her tone was aloof, but her eyes were already accusing. Hunk felt a bad feeling wedge itself into his gut. “Doesn’t he usually come with you?”

 

“Yeah,” Pidge answered nonchalantly as they stretched their back. “He’s, I don’t know. Being Lance, I guess. Who knows.” Allura frowned at that. The wrong thing to say, apparently, but Pidge took no notice.

 

“You realize you’re both late?” She raised a thin eyebrow.

 

“Traffic was really bad,” Hunk offered before the drummer could answer again. “We’re sorry.”

 

“Hunk, you don’t have to apologize,” Pidge protested. “We’re five minutes late, tops. Besides, when we practiced at Keith’s place, Allura was always the late one.”

 

“Eight,” countered Allura. Why couldn’t either of them keep their mouths shut? “Ten minutes if you round.”  _ Holy crow,  _ Hunk mentally groaned.  _ Do either of them know how NOT to instigate? _

 

Pidge just rolled their eyes. “Okay, cool. We’re still at that level of pettiness. Good to know our little chat didn’t change anything.” They moved past Allura to set down their stuff. The woman scoffed.

 

“Pidge! Why would you say that? Of course it did! We have more in common now.”

 

“Well, yeah, but would it kill you to be a little nicer?” they countered, their glasses glinting in the light. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a repeat of the first time we met.” Hunk shuffled to the couch in silence, putting down his keyboard.

 

“I’m being perfectly civil!” Allura replied, hands on her hips. “You two were late. Lance isn’t with you, and I can’t reach Keith at all. We are  _ not  _ a three-person act. If you haven’t noticed, our lead guitarist and our bassist aren’t here, and without them, we can’t do anything.”  

 

“Why are you treating this like a job?” Pidge argued back. Voices were starting to reach a not-okay volume. Hunk was starting to feel queasy. This was not good. The drummer went on to exclaim, “You’re not our boss!”

 

“We have practices here, I schedule the gigs, I sing, and I have all the equipment. I might as well be!” Allura’s voice was shrill. Hunk realized that she might blow her top in a way that he hadn’t seen before.

 

Pidge physically bristled. “You did  _ not _ just say that. What is with you, today?”        

 

“I was fine, until the entirety of my band decided to be incompetent!”

 

“Guys,” Hunk attempted, only to get cut off by Pidge’s sour remark.

 

“ _ Your  _ band. Really? And with the way you’re attacking your own bandmates, I’d say you were the incompetent one.”              

 

Allura’s hands tightened into fists by her sides. Hunk looked between both of them with fear. This was just like the first practice they’d had, except the fuse was way quicker, and Lance wasn’t here to mediate. Oh. Oh crap. Hunk’s face paled.

 

Lance wasn’t here to mediate. So who would?

 

Pidge scowled up to Allura, their dramatic height difference almost comical.

 

“Hey,” Hunk tried again, his voice embarrassingly meek. “Let’s not say things we’ll regret later--”

  
And, with optimal timing, that was when Keith had decided to arrive. Perfect. Hunk gave a hefty, grieving sigh. With only Pidge and Allura, there had been a slight chance that Hunk could’ve smoothed things over. But he couldn’t handle three people. Especially if that third person was Keith. Terrified, Hunk peered at Allura from where he had naturally seeked shelter: behind the couch. Even from his hiding place, he could feel the furious heat radiating from her body. She was definitely not happy.

 

It didn’t help that Keith was looking more like a delinquent today than usual. He sported dark blue distressed jeans that were a little too big for him, and a large red plaid flannel shirt that he wore unbuttoned, revealing a gray v-neck undershirt beneath it. The top of his shoulders was damp with rain, and as he walked, his shoes squeaked on the tile floor. His guitar was slung over his body haphazardly, and his eyes were slack and unfocused. He had entered in no hurry, and it just made Allura angrier. 

 

“You are fifteen minutes late,” she practically hissed. Her eyes were slits.

 

“Sorry,” grunted Keith, twirling a key ring on his finger. He looked pretty tired. Hunk briefly wondered why, but that thought was swept away as he realized that a tired Keith was a Keith who would be easier to provoke, i.e. making the conflict worsen. “Where’s Lance?” he asked, looking around lazily.

 

Wrong topic.

 

Literally probably the worst topic.

 

“ _ Lance _ is apparently off being  _ Lance.  _ Whatever excuse that is. Who knows what he’s doing? Knowing our prized womanizer of a bassist, he’s probably off flirting with my pet mice! And I bet he can’t even get a date with them. Their standards are too high.”

 

“Don’t talk about Lance like that,” warned Pidge, the same time Keith growled, “Allura, what the hell?”

 

Hunk had not expected Keith to be on Lance’s side. Apparently, according to their expression of surprise, neither had Pidge.

 

Allura’s scowl deepened. “Oh come on! He flirts unabashedly with me all the time, despite my obvious disinterest! Are you seriously defending that behavior?”

 

“He respects you, though!” replied Pidge. “He stops when you tell him to, and he usually does it just to get us to laugh anyway. It’s just who he is!”

 

“It’s annoying and distracting!” countered Allura. “He needs to focus on the band.”

 

Keith tensed. “You’re not giving him near enough credit, Allura. I think he’s more dedicated to The Lions than you realize.”

 

Allura took her time rolling her eyes. “Like you know anything about him, Keith. You’ve been at odds with him since day one.” Hunk thought that he could hear Keith’s teeth grinding together. In retrospect, it was actually pretty impressive how much restraint the guitarist was showing.

 

“You’re the one who knows nothing, Allura.” Keith spat. “What the hell is your damage? What is with you?”   
  


“My  _ damage _ is that neither of you, nor anyone else in this group, is showing the dedication, loyalty, and respect a band needs in order to be successful--”     

 

_ “Lance shows all of those things!” _ Keith protested.

 

“What about that crap you were telling me at last practice, Allura?” Pidge burst out. “You literally called me out for causing ripples in the team’s feng shui or whatever and  _ now _ look at you! Causing freaking tidal waves! What the hell!”

 

“Pidge,” Allura’s voice shook with rage. “You need to be quiet.”

 

“NO! No, you’re acting like an entitled little princess! Well newsflash, honey, you’re not the princess of anything! You’re acting like everything should be going your way, and ignoring your own hypocrisy! You’re acting like you’re the star of this band!”

 

“And disrespecting people who’ve done nothing wrong!” added Keith. The tired look in his eyes had all but gone.  _ Well, good to know all I have to do to wake him up is mention Lance, _ Hunk thought. Keith continued to point a finger in Allura’s face. “You had no right to talk about Lance like that.”

 

“Tell me one thing he’s done for the band that’s been constructive.” Her voice was edged with poison, and she swatted Keith’s hand away. “He’s done nothing but compete with you, Keith, egging you on and making you mess up simple melodies. He never stops flirting with me, which disrupts my focus on what I’m singing--”

 

“Don’t be a JACKASS!” yelled Pidge.

 

“He jumps in with vocals when nobody asks him too--”

 

“You are being ridiculous!” Keith contradicted.

 

Hunk heard the swish of an opening door and looked back with desperate hope. He felt hot tears come to his eyes. It was Lance and Coran, looking completely and utterly at a loss for what was happening. Hunk did not want to tell Lance what Allura had been saying about him. “Do something!” He pleaded instead. Finally, reinforcements. The trio still argued in the background.

 

“ _ We don’t even need him! _ ” Allura roared. That was when Hunk heard the punch. There was a sick-sounding thud. It wasn’t a pretty sound. Without even turning his head, he knew things had gone a little too far. Instead of petty and annoyed, the mood had turned into something deeper. He could feel it in the air.

 

“KEITH!” Lance practically screamed in disbelief. Hunk watched his friend run to the scene, taking in what had happened in the precious seconds his eyes had been torn from the argument.  Allura was holding her cheek, kneeling away from where Keith was standing, breathing heavily. Was she crying? Pidge was blinking in between the two, like they couldn’t believe what had just happened. Lance was knelt next to Allura, trying to get her to show him the injury. But she wouldn’t look at him. It wasn’t until Coran came next to Lance and muttered something in his ear that Allura looked up. Lance nodded to whatever the older man had suggested and moved over to Keith, who was now realizing what he had just done, heaving breaths in and out. Coran was examining the injury like a fussy old lady, but Allura let him.

 

Confident that the fight was over, Hunk edged his way from where he had been hiding to talk to Pidge.

 

“Hey roomie,” he greeted uncertainly. “You doing alright?” Pidge gave them the okay sign with both hands rather gloomily. Hunk sat next to them and let Pidge rest their head on his shoulder as he nonchalantly eavesdropped on both conversations.

 

“You can’t do that,” Coran was muttering as he examined Allura’s new shiner. “I know Lance is similar to him, but you have to trust that it won’t be the same. Lance isn’t the same. You can’t tear him apart like that, okay? I just had a really good talk with him. About--oh don’t look so alarmed. Yes, about Altea. He made me realize some things that I’ve been doing wrong. You need to trust me when I say that he won’t be like your last bassist.”

 

“You didn’t tell Lance about him, did you?” Allura’s voice was suddenly weak.

 

“No,” Coran said softly. “Your face should be fine. Just a black eye. It should fade fairly quickly...”

 

Hunk focused in on Lance’s conversation.

 

“That was really stupid of you,” Lance scolded, his foot tapping in earnest. He was like a mother telling off her child. “What if you’d really hurt her? I can’t believe you punched Allura. Out of all the idiotic and reckless things to do. You realize she could probably actually literally kill you, right? Remember how she’s a freakin’ black belt?  What if she’d hurt you back? Then we’d have two hurt band members, and then we wouldn’t be able to do gigs at all. And right before summer vacation! You realize I’ve got less than a week of school left, right? What were you thinking? Exams are kicking my butt right now, I have my jobs, and now this? Keith! Why’d you even do it?”

 

The boy just made a noncommittal grunt, eyes hidden by bangs in his face. “She said something she really shouldn’t have.”

 

Lance frowned. “You sir, are an idiot.”

 

Keith stood quietly and took it like a champ as Lance ranted his ear off. Hunk couldn’t figure out why Keith didn’t just tell him.  _ Allura was insulting you so I punched her. _ Maybe he didn’t want Lance to know Allura had been insulting him, like Hunk. But that didn’t make sense. Why would Keith want to protect Lance from a blow to the ego? Was it possible that Lance and Keith had gotten past their rivalry? When had they managed that?

 

Coran stood, a solemn look on his face. Allura would make eye contact with no one.

 

“I think it’s best that everyone go home for the day,” He suggested, defeatedly. “I’m sorry for wasting all of your time.”

 

Pidge, Hunk, and Keith all turned to go. Hunk could detect bitterness still stuck in the set of Keith and Pidge’s shoulders. Lance had not come to walk with them yet. Hunk stopped and waited.

 

Lance was looking back at Allura. He wore an expression that was sad, confused, and a little hurt.   

 

Hunk didn’t like it one bit. “Lance,” he said, breaking his friend out of whatever thought spiral he’d been falling into. “You coming?”

 

Lance looked to him, his blue eyes big. “Y-yeah,” he agreed after a second. Hunk put an arm around the shoulders of his friend companionably as they walked up to join the others.

 

“Do you guys wanna get fro-yo?” Hunk offered hesitantly. “It’s free today.”

 

“Hunk, my favorite person,” Pidge answered, relief flooding their features. “That would be positively stellar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst angst angst angst


	9. Open Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIRO!
> 
> This chapter is named after the song Open Arms by Journey (1981)

Coran had sent her back to the therapist later that day. The therapist that he thought she’d been going to, anyway. She’d stopped attending the appointments after three weeks, preferring the alternative. Ditching with Takashi.

 

Allura sat outside their favored meeting place, one she hadn’t been to in a few months. It was a nice cafe that was down the street from the bleak therapy building in which they’d both met. She sipped on her vanilla frappe with impatience. He was late. Or maybe she was early. It really didn’t matter, he wasn’t here yet.

  
God, she was on edge. Allura knew she was far away from Galra-controlled streets, but her eyes were still constantly scanning the area, looking for potential threats. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she found she couldn’t stop. Her tongue played with the straw in her mouth as she waited.

 

It took him a few more minutes to make an appearance. He waved as soon as he saw her, Allura waving back. 

 

“Hi,” he greeted breathlessly as he sat down across from her. It was obvious he’d ran here in a hurry. “Sorry I’m late. I’ve been a bit of a mess these days. It’s been a while.” His tone was friendly, but Allura could sense his tension beneath the amiable exterior. He knew something was off with her already and she hadn’t even said anything.

 

“Thanks for coming,” she replied. “Do you want something to drink? It’s on me.” Takashi shook his head, gesturing to a thermos he was already holding. They both took a moment of silence to sip at their drinks and gauge the situation.

 

Takashi looked worried for her. She hadn’t asked him to meet her here since he’d told her to try and make a band again. That’d been months ago. Since then, it’d been quick stops at each others’ houses to pick up songs, a fast chat here and there, and lots of texting. Allura didn’t know the details of why Takashi was suddenly so busy, but she knew it had something to do with the police. He’d mentioned it once or twice, but she didn’t press for answers, and he didn’t want her to. Allura wondered how she looked in Takashi’s eyes. Scared? Harried? Paranoid?

 

“Allura, what did you call me here to talk about?” Takashi asked. He asked her in that stern tone, the one that was so similar to her father’s whenever she did something wrong. Allura felt like drawing her knees up to her chest and hiding her face in a curtain of her hair.

 

With a sigh, she started to tell him everything. “Coran is making me see the therapist again. He’s scared that everything I did after my father’s murder is going to repeat again. I’m afraid he might be right. I don’t want him to be. But I’ve already been having the nightmares again, and yesterday, I...did something I greatly regret.”

 

“Is that why you have a black eye?” Shiro questioned, gesturing to her face. Gingerly, Allura touched the bruise. She’d forgotten it was there. “What triggered all of this?” he asked next, softly swishing his thermos around.

 

“I think it was a delayed reaction to what a bandmate named Pidge told me,” she confessed, running a hand through her hair. “They had a family member who died because of that wretched gang. I counseled them through a bout of grief. It brought back feelings within me that I thought I’d stomped out. I was fine the rest of the day, but that night I had a nightmare, and since then they haven’t stopped.”

 

“The same one as before?” Takashi pressed, his eyebrows drawn together. 

 

“Yes,” answered Allura. “But with one major difference. The people are all switched around. Lance is there with me instead of...you know. My father is still there, but Pidge discovers him instead of our old drummer.”

 

Shiro places his chin on his hand as he thinks about what he has told her. “Lance?” he decides to say. “Why has he taken the place of--um, the previous bassist?”

 

Allura sighed heavily. “They’re very similar. Both very flirty. Tall, good-looking. Cocky. They both play the bass. Yesterday I had a bit of a meltdown, actually. Before the band practice, I was caught up thinking about my nightmare, and I realized how very similar the two were. I tried doing vocal exercises, but they did nothing to soothe me. The meltdown itself...it was very embarrassing. I said many things I didn’t mean. And I’m afraid I ruined things with Keith and Pidge. I’m glad Lance wasn’t there to hear them. They’re just…they’re both similar enough to where it bothers me. I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to try and pull the same thing.” Takashi’s mouth was a hard line.

 

“Allura,” he said in a surprisingly harsh tone. “You are not seventeen anymore. You can’t compare your new group to Altea, and you certainly can’t pretend they are the same. By thinking those things about Lance, you’re being unfair. You’re only making it worse for yourself and everyone around you. The Lions are not Altea. You’re just reliving your past. Do you see that?” There was a low burning fire in his eyes as he spoke to her.

 

Allura took a long gulp of her frappuccino. It was hard to admit, and even harder to hear. She knew he was right. “I don’t know how I’m going to talk to them after disgracing myself like that.” she said with a sigh. “I know you’re right, and it’s what I should do, but…”                  

 

“It’s not going to be comfortable, or easy, for anyone. But you have to make amends. Especially with whoever gave you that black eye. Part of your role as a singer is to bring all the instruments together into a song. Think of this as part of being the singer.” Allura brushed her fingers against the bruised skin by her eye again, remembering the moment when she’d realized she’d overstepped her bounds. As soon as Keith’s fist met her face, she knew she deserved it. Pidge had been right. She’d been acting like an entitled, spoiled brat. All because she couldn’t get over a childhood trauma.

 

“How should I do it, Takashi?” She looked to him miserably. At the mention of his name, he rolled his eyes.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Shiro?”

 

“I like Takashi better, though,” She parried with a winning smile. He’d wanted her to call him Shiro for years now, but she never did. This conversation was not a new one, and had become something of an inside joke between the two of them. Takashi let his wide shoulders drop, and Allura knew she had won, like she always did.

 

“I would just be honest,” He advised. “Get the people you fought with together, talk about it, and make amends. And when they ask questions,” he gained a knowing glint in his eye. “Be forward. None of that skirting-around-the-answer stuff you pull sometimes. Ah ah--don’t even pretend like what I’m saying isn’t true. You know it is.”

 

Allura pouted. “So I suppose I’ll just send a text in the group chat.” She tried not feel dread as she contemplated the possibilities of what could happen. The what-if’s were endless.

 

Takashi looked to his watch suddenly, a guilty expression spreading across his face. “Oh, crap. I had a meeting that started five minutes ago. I should uh, probably go to that!” He gave a nervous chuckle as he got up. Allura stood with him.

 

“Thank you,” she let out quickly. “You’re a good friend. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me.”   
  


“You’ve helped me too,” Takashi replied with a smile. “It’s the least I could do.” He started walking away, still facing her and putting his jacket on. “Call if you need anything else, okay? Or if you just want to talk! My arms are always open!” He opened his arms wide as if to accentuate the point, causing Allura to chuckle. Then he turned, and all of his charm was put aside so he could sprint to his next destination. Allura watched his retreating back with a sense of peace. Even if resolving all of this would be difficult, at least she knew where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooOOOOooOOooo who's this mystery guy people keep mentioning?????? theres not a lot of klance in this one but....the next two chapters after this...oh boy...
> 
> also don't worry shiro will be back later. thanks for reading!


	10. Time After Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after the song Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper (1983)
> 
> enjoy a lil langst kiddos, u deserve it

**Pidge:** GUESS WHST SCHOOL IS OUT FOR THE YEAR

**Pidge:** *WHAT

**Pidge:** THIS MEANS GIIIIIIGS

**Me:** Happy summer vacation

**Pidge:** oh btw

**Pidge:** did you get alluras txt

**Pidge:** *text

**Me:** Yeah

**Pidge:** whatd you reply????

**Me:** Didn’t.

**Pidge:** oh

**Pidge:** that seems like you :I

**Pidge:** anyway i know youre mad at her but hunk and i already said we’d come hear her out and itd be weird if you didnt come too. dont make it awkward for everyone, ok?

**Me:** I don’t want to talk to her right now.

**Pidge:** what if lance was coming >.>

**Me:** Why is Lance coming?

**Pidge:** she said ALL the badn, plus lance wants to know what the fight was about bc he’s a nosy lil shitweasel

**Pidge:** *band

**Me:** Why would you let Lance walk into a situation like that. Talking about the fight will literally be like insulting him to his face. Why would you knowingly let him do that.

**Pidge:** maybe the real question is why YOURE letting him do that

**Me:** Stop trying to be clever and manipulate me into coming.

**Pidge:** but your coming right

**Pidge:** *youre

**Me:** Fine.

**Pidge:** Hehehehe 

**Me:** Only because you make a good point.  

**Pidge:** you cant resist my wily charms keith :3c

**Me:** Bye.

 

_ _ _

 

Lance wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived at Allura’s door. He’d never seen Allura lose it like that before, he’d never seen  _ Keith _ lose it like that, even though Keith was notorious for his short temper. He really, really wanted to know how Allura had said. “I mean, it’s Allura,” he muttered under his breath. “What could she possibly have said that was  _ that  _ bad?” Hunk looked at him quizzically. It took Lance a moment to realize he’d said that outloud. Whoops.

 

The door opening was what saved him in the end. Coran peeked his cute old face out at them, gesturing for them to come in. He looked better, Lance noted. Maybe he’d been seeing someone. Coran directed them to a completely different wing of the house that none of them had been in before. Lance didn’t know how but it felt...older. And emptier. As Coran held the door open for them, the ding of the doorbell echoed through the halls of the house.

 

“Keith,” Coran muttered. “I’ll go get him.” He stepped away, but Lance put an arm out to block him. 

 

“I’ll do it,” he volunteered. “You go sit down.” Coran paused a moment, before finally clapping Lance on the shoulder and heading inside. How did he get back to the front entrance again?

 

In the end, he reached the door out of pure luck. If Keith hadn’t kept ringing the bell out of impatience, Lance probably would’ve died in that labyrinth of hallways. He was only saved by the following the insistent knocks and jabs at the doorbell.

 

When Lance finally swung the door open, Keith was leaning against the wall, scowl in place, hair a mess of dark tangles, and motorcycle helmet in hand. He looked over to glare at the door-opener, but when he saw Lance, his expression changed into something different. Less angry, more…? Something else. Keith’s face was like a Rubix Cube, Lance mused. Fun to try and puzzle out, but he would never solve it.

 

“Uh,” Keith said intelligently. “What took you so long?”

 

“This house is a maze,” Lance replied with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, let’s see if I can remember the way back.” Keith passed him through the door and Lance stared at the boy’s birdnest of a mullet.

 

“Do you own a comb?” he blurted out. Immediately, he regretted it.  _ That sounded so condescending. _ Keith raised a hand to tussle some of his hair into a little less of a disaster. Lance was afraid he offended the guitarist, but Keith just shrugged.

 

“Helmet hair,” he told Lance nonchalantly. “Occupational hazard of owning a motorcycle, I guess.” He looked down at the helmet gripped in one gloved hand.  _ Oh my god he’s wearing fingerless gloves, _ Lance thought as he stared at them, repressing a snort. “I guess I should’ve left this with my bike. Oh well.” And then he looked back to Lance. “Which way?”

 

Hadn’t this guy been pissed off a moment before? Lance warily led Keith back to the room everyone was gathered in. Thankfully, Lance found that traversing the path twice now had improved his memory, and he had yet to make a wrong turn. About halfway back, Keith opened his mouth again.

 

“Hey, um.”

 

Lance turned to peer at Keith after more than three seconds of silence. The boy had stopped, a hand still poised in the back of his head, absently twisting strands of hair at the back of his neck. He looked at Lance square in the face.

 

“I didn’t really wanna come to this, this whole get-together thing.” He said it like he was admitting a dirty secret.. “Well I--Frankly, I came because you were coming, too.” 

 

Lance wanted to say something, but Keith was still talking, not giving him any space to interject. “And I was worried about what you’d be walking into, because Lance, you’re not going to like what’s gonna be said. Everybody knew you were coming, but no one thought, ‘hey, it might be nice to give Lance a heads up that this whole argument deal was literally almost all about him’. Can you believe that?”

 

Lance’s eyebrows hurled into each other as he reviewed what Keith had just threw at him. “Wait a tick,” he said, hands out in a stopping gesture. “What do you mean, the argument was about me?” If Keith had ever been unsure he’s had Lance’s full attention, he had to be certain now. Lance was eating this up like a starved dog.  _ Why were they talking about me? Fighting about me?  _ “What’d I do?”

 

Keith looked...just about as visibly uncomfortable as he could be. It was obvious emotions were not his strong suit. “You didn’t do anything. You just--you’ll see. When they talk about it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. It just kind of pissed me off that they didn’t even bat an eye when you decided to come, you know? Like they almost didn’t think about how you would feel.” 

 

Lance’s expression only grew darker. 

 

It dawned on Keith how bad the things he had just said sounded, and he paled. Hurriedly, he tried to recover. “Sorry! I mean, they did! Obviously they did, I wouldn’t--Everyone here cares about you and they wouldn’t do that on purpose, obviously.”              

 

Lance sighed, his worsening demeanor broken slightly by the sight of a flustered Keith. It was funny to see him tripping over his own words, and he wished it wasn’t over such a disconcerting topic. 

 

“You know,” he lamented loudly, “I could totally make fun of you right now. You stuttering and blushing and being a cute little mess right now. I could hold it against you your entire life. But unfortunately, you had to go and be a decent human being, didn’t you? You make it so hard to blackmail you. Really, you’re very inconvenient.” Lance crossed his arms like he had an actual reason to be pissed off. Keith regained his aloof nature at the sound of Lance’s familiar sarcasm. They were back in home territory. He pushed passed Lance, but not violently. “Third door to your right,” Lance called out helpfully. But as he reached for the doorknob, the boy stopped to look back at Lance. His eyes were curious dark wells of something unknown.

 

“What?” Lance said as Keith looked at him.

 

“Do you still have a crush on Allura?” he questioned faintly. It had not been something Lance was expecting.

 

Confused, Lance answered, “Uh, I don’t know. I mean, I guess, why?” Keith didn’t answer, just twisted the doorknob and pushed in. He held the door for Lance.

 

“What a gentleman,” Lance murmured, snickering when Keith heard. He wasn’t snickering when Keith let go of the door on him.

 

Turns out that the doors in the entire house were all really heavy. Lance thought his shoulder would probably have a new bruise to add to its collection by the end of the day.

 

Allura sat perched in a fancy-schmancy throne-y chair. Lance didn’t know how else to describe it. She looked better than she had last time he’d seen her. Her hair was still down, but it was neater now. It ran down her back in attractive waves of white. She was also wearing a loose-fitting but graceful dress of blue hues that matched her eyes and hinted at her fit body underneath. She was beautiful, as always, and Lance liked the fact that today she was wearing his favorite color. Why would Keith ask about his crush on Allura? It was as unrequited as all the others; Lance made a side note to ask Keith about his peculiar inquiry later. Maybe Keith himself was interested in Allura? 

Lance was amused at the thought, but quickly put it out of mind. They’d never go for each other. Or would they? Allura could get anyone she wanted, and Keith was pretty cute. Cute enough and talented enough to garner attention. And Keith? Lance had no idea what the guy was into. Man of mystery.

 

But the very thought of Keith and Allura being an item...it left a dark spike of jealousy in Lance’s chest. He didn’t enjoy imagining the concept, so he put it out of mind.

 

Pidge and Hunk were situated next to her in similar fancy chairs, and Coran stood, appearing to entertain himself by polishing the top of Allura’s throne. She smiled shyly and unsurely when both Lance and Keith came in.    
  
“Hey, Princess.” Lance greeted, smooching his lips together and raising his eyebrows. He threw in a single finger-gun. Things weren’t so awkward in here to need the full two guns blazing to break the tension. As expected, Allura rolled her eyes and Pidge snorted. Keith crossed his arms moodily and found a place to sit. All the pissed-offness from earlier had seemed to remanifest itself in this very moment. Lance looked around to see no more available seating, and so flopped onto the carpeted floor with a thump.

 

“I’m glad everyone could come,” Allura started quietly. “I must really start with an apology to everyone. How I acted last time we met was...it was unacceptable. I was prickish, entitled, and wrong. It was unprofessional of me, and I regret every word.” Lance believed her immediately. Sincerity practically dripped from her mouth. She sounded like she was almost pleading. “I beg of you not to hold it against me. I was trying to emulate my past music group, Altea. It took a lot of thinking and a friend physically telling me to realize what I was doing and how it was wrong. Pidge, Hunk, Keith, and Lance. I never meant to be so cruel. I think of you all as my family, and I want you to know that.” Allura’s voice had gotten trembly and thick, and she had leaned forward as she’d spoken. A hand pressed over her mouth. She was obviously very upset--Lance wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know her boundaries. She hadn’t ever given him a chance to test the waters.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she croaked. “Pidge, I’m sorry for snapping at you, especially after you confided in me about your family. You deserved the very opposite of how I treated you.”

 

Pidge couldn’t help themselves from smiling. “It’s okay,” they said sincerely. “I can understand how you felt. Sometimes I feel the same thing.”

 

Allura let out a deep breath, and moved her piercing gaze to Hunk. “I owe you an apology too, Hunk. I yelled at you and frightened you and that was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that either. Is there something I can do to redeem myself?” Hunk awarded her with an easy smile and a warm hug. 

 

“The fact that you’re recognizing what you did and apologizing is redemption enough, Allura. And for the record, you’re like family to me too.”

 

They broke out of the hug, and Allura looked to Keith next. He glared at her back.

 

“Keith I’m--” Keith cut her off.

 

“Lance needs an apology more than I do. Tell him what you said and that you’re sorry. Make an apology to him before saying anything to me.” His voice was sharp and he crossed his legs while turning away, avoiding making eye contact with anyone including Lance. So Lance looked back to Allura expectantly. The words Keith had said earlier had never truly left his mind.

 

The whole fight? About him? The idea left his stomach churning nervously.

 

“Lance,” Allura began tenderly. She clearly found it hard to make eye contact with him, but she maintained it nonetheless. He didn’t know why it was such a struggle, but he respected her effort anyway.

 

“When we were fighting, and you were talking with Coran, I said some very hurtful things directed towards you. None of them were true, and I regret making each false statement with my entire heart. In truth, it was because I was projecting someone from my past onto you, which was unfair and wrong of me. I hope you’ll find it in you to forgive me.”

 

Lance had already forgiven her. He didn’t even know what she’d said, but he knew that he couldn’t resist her obvious sincerity. He didn’t care what she’d said. She was at no fault. He was about to say so, until he saw Keith’s tumultuous expression. It was clear that  _ he  _ hadn’t forgiven Allura. Lance had to wonder why.

 

“Is someone going to actually talk about what was said, or are we just going to skirt around offending Lance?” Keith’s voice was low, commanding, and held the poorly-disguised promise of another punch in the face if they didn’t do what he’d so eloquently requested.  

 

Pidge inhaled deeply, clearly uncomfortable. No one would make eye contact with Lance.

 

“Okay…” Allura breathed. “Um...Lance. I want you to know that everything I said about you was absolutely not true. I wasn’t acting like myself. Everything I said in my outburst was uncalled for and in no way reflects how I really think of you.”

 

Lance snorted. “Well, let’s hope you didn’t call me devilishly handsome.” Hunk let out a tiny laugh, but it otherwise didn’t lighten the mood. Lance found that he was unusually tense.

 

Allura’s fingers drummed quietly on her knees. “I said…I said that you were too unfocused. I said that I was made very uncomfortable and you were distracting the band with your attempts at...flirtations. I also may have proclaimed that you were disloyal and not dedicated to the group. I insulted your genuine talent and discounted your value to the team.”

 

Her eyes refused to look up from her feet. Her voice had quieted in shame. _I’ve already forgiven her,_ Lance reminded himself, ignoring how the words she’d just said struck a little too close to home. _This doesn’t matter._ _She knows she was wrong. It’s fine._

 

The question he’d wanted to ask ever since the fight rolled onto his tongue. He addressed Allura, but looked to Keith.

 

“What’d you say exactly, to get Keith to punch you?”

 

Allura hissed out a breath. Pidge and Hunk were both attentive, eyeing the potentially volatile scene with anxious interest. Keith was tense and still, leaning toward in his seat. Allura swallowed.

 

“I um, I said we, as a band, didn’t need you.” her voice dripped with regret. “I’m so sorry. You’re a very proficient bassist, Lance. The best one I’ve ever had.” Lance knew she hadn’t meant it back then. He knew. The endless apologies and apparent regret were evidence enough. But he still felt his heart lurch, he still felt bitterness invading the thoughts in his head.  _ She doesn’t mean it she doesn’t mean it she doesn’t mean it she doesn’t mean it _

 

He had to repeat it, constantly reminding himself. After a beat, when he’d made sure he could actually pull off a joke, he smiled boastfully. “Wow, I guess I should go on a solo act then. Lance and the Lances. God, I can see it now. I’ll get so many Tonys.”

 

“The Tonys aren’t for music,” Pidge told him, a smile tugging at their mouth. Hunk seemed relieved, but still concerned, and Allura was grinning at him. Even though they’d just insulted him to his face, he was still Lance. Good ol’ class clown Lance.

 

“I’m glad there are no hard feelings,” she told him. Her eyes slid over to Keith and she widened her smile, showing him that at least on  _ her _ end, things were alright. Keith just sighed, and got up from his chair.

 

“No hard feelings,” the boy repeated, picking his helmet off from the carpet.

 

Before anyone else had even gotten up, he was out the door. And then Lance picked himself off from the ground and followed.

 

“Wait up,” Lance called out, pushing the door open. Keith stopped but didn’t look back at him. “Why are you leaving?” He had to go out of his way to face Keith, stepping in front of him and blocking the only way to the exit.

 

“I only came to make sure she apologized to you,” Keith said. “I thought I made that clear. Why don’t you go back and clear the air with Allura some more?”

  
Lance eyed Keith like a jaguar might eye its prey. “I’m not the one who needs to clear the air with Allura, man. You got some other beef with her, or what?”

 

“Lance, I didn’t punch her for the fun of it.”

 

“Well, yeah. But like, something you’re not telling us about? What really made you punch her?” Keith’s eyebrow twitched downward.

 

“What she said about  _ you _ , idiot.” Lance shook his head. Keith wasn’t understanding.

 

“No, like, what else did she do to you? Like, I get that the comment was kind of the last straw, but why are you really mad at her?”

 

The boy’s expression grew into one of troubled thoughtfulness. “Lance,” he insisted, grabbing onto Lance arm. “I punched her because she was insulting you like that. There was nothing else.” 

 

“Dude, just tell me. Did you ask her out and get rejected or something?”

 

Keith grabbed Lance’s other arm at the elbow, forcing Lance to make eye contact.

 

“I gave Allura a black eye because  _ you are my friend _ . What she said was unacceptable. I don’t let people insult my friends.”

 

Lance blinked. He blinked again. A stupid grin crept onto his face, and he felt himself chuckle. He felt...nervously pleased. For once, Lance looked at Keith and he knew exactly what was going on in that head of his. Keith’s eyes were sharp with determination, his mouth drawn into a tight frown.  _ Even if he’s kind of horrible at it,  _ Lance thought,  _ He wants to help. Just like that time I was freaking out from anxiety when he came over. Time after time after time. _

 

That was some movie quote crap right there.

 

Lance was dizzy with it. Of course Keith would punch someone for a friend. That made perfect sense, because it was a stupid thing to do, and Keith was the king of stupid. And Lance was that friend. Keith would punch someone for  _ him. _ And not just anyone. Allura.

 

Keith let go of his arms suddenly, taking a step away. He put his hands in his pockets. 

 

“What’s that creepy smile for?” he asked sullenly, his mood suddenly sulky. Almost embarrassed, if Lance had to speculate. Aww. Baby Kweef was embarrassed to have a fwend. 

 

“Now that we’re friends,” Lance replied, putting extra emphasis on the last word, “Can I get a joyride?”

 

Keith blinked at him, eyes wide, failing to process. “What?”

 

“On your motorcycle? The one I’ve wanted to ride since the first time I saw it?”

 

“Oh.” Keith leaned forward, starting to walk forward again. Lance fell in step, finding Keith’s fast pace a perfect match for his longer strides. Keith’s eyes slid over to him. “Why didn’t you ask before?”

 

Lance scoffed. “I was convinced you were a buttmonkey, remember? I thought I told you all that when we had our little heart-to-heart at  _ mi casa _ ?” Keith frowned. 

 

“Yeah, I remember.” He muttered it into his jacket.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is probably the most romantic one in the entire fic. i dont think you're ready.


	11. Red Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literally one of my favorite chapters. hope you guys like it!
> 
> This chapter is named after the Red Skies by The Fixx (1982)
> 
> it's because there's a sunset, guys.

Keith could tell even before he’d started the motorcycle that Lance had never ridden one before. He knew before Lance asked, “Where’s the seat belt?”

 

But that didn’t stop him from laughing. “Motorcycles don’t have seat belts,” he answered.

 

“How safe is that?” came Lance’s almost-panicked reply.

 

“Safe as life.” He pushed his helmet into Lance’s chest. “Here.”

 

Lance looked up at him with big eyes. “Where’s yours?” It earned a snort.

 

“Believe it or not, Lance, I wasn’t expecting an extra passenger today. You’ll need the helmet more than me. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m driving completely unprotected.” He tugged on his leather biker jacket for emphasis. His friend puzzled over the helmet for a moment before fitting it onto his head. He flipped the visor up, his beady eyes peeking out.

 

“It’s sweaty,” he complained, voice muffled. “It smells like mullet in here.” Keith shrugged, the insult rolling off of him as he swung a leg over the motorcycle seat. Lance grumbled incoherently as he followed, easily hopping on behind Keith. Lance’s legs were long enough to touch the gravel on either side of the bike.

 

“Since there are no seat belts,” Keith said with a smirk. “You might wanna hold on.” He revved the engine, and with no warning, accelerated like lightning out of Allura’s driveway.

 

“KEITHKEITHKEITHKEITHKEITHKEITHOHMYGODKEEEEEEEEEEEIIIITH!!!!!!”

 

Lance’s lanky arms were wrapped around Keith’s torso in less than a second, his face pressed close to Keith’s shoulder, screaming in his ear. Keith laughed at his surprise.

 

“Told you to hold on, didn’t I?” he yelled over the noise of the engine.

 

“THIS IS A DEATH MACHINE!!” Lance screeched back, tightening his death grip around Keith’s waist. “I’M TOO HANDSOME TO DIE, KEITH!”

 

He just laughed again, speeding up. 

 

Keith didn’t ask Lance where he wanted to go. He’d said joyride, after all. And something told him that Lance didn’t really care. Something told Keith that secretly, Lance just wanted to go somewhere far away. He saw it in his eyes. It was like ever since he’d visited Lance’s house, seen him genuinely happy and smiling, he could tell the difference. Keith could tell when he was faking it. In that room, when Allura had told Lance that she’d called him worthless--correction: when the woman currently in possession of Lance’s  _ heart _ called him worthless-- he’d joked and smiled but he’d been faking it. Hard. Keith legitimately had no idea how nobody else had picked up on it.

 

Lance had stopped screaming. He’d calmed down; his grip had slackened ever so slightly. With a quick glance into his side mirror, he could see Lance with his body still leaning into Keith, but his face facing the left. He was watching the sunset. You couldn’t see it very well from the road they were on. Most of the surrounding land was covered in dense foliage, only allowing the sun’s light in through tiny spaces crammed in between the shadows of branches and leaves. It left a pale yellow imprint dappled on the otherwise dark cement. 

 

Keith was struck with a sudden idea. Before he could really bother himself with being reasonable, he slammed his foot on the ground, twisting the motorcycle a full 360 degrees. There was a surprised squeak from behind him as Lance’s attention was brought back to the motorcycle and its driver.

 

“What’re you doing?!”

 

Keith shrugged. “Gonna get a good view of the sunset.”

 

After that, they both fell silent. It was comfortable silence, though, and Keith found that he liked it. When Lance was feeling chatty, he didn’t exactly mind, but it was nice to see yet another side of the bassist. It was nice to know the guy could actually shut up. Lance was nothing but surprises, and Keith liked that about him. Kept him on his toes. 

 

Using Lance’s focus on the sunset to decide on a destination was really cheesy. He hoped his companion wouldn’t make fun of it. But Keith didn’t think he would. A scene from earlier that day rolled into his memory. Keith had made a fool of himself, trying to explain why he was worried for Lance without sounding like the over-protective and possessive person he was. Because of his lack of loving relationships as a child, his social worker had always said Keith was especially clingy.

 

The way Lance had looked at him, the judging stare he’d received, it’d sent tendrils of fear into Keith’s stomach that he’d deny happened if anyone ever asked him. However, instead of being cruel and mocking, Lance had laughed it off, lightened the mood, and joked about Keith being too decent a person to make fun of.

 

It was a rare kind of selflessness.

 

That was probably what had really sealed the deal for him, right then. That was the moment he knew. Despite that, it felt like he’d known it since the first time they’d seen each other in the Garrison parking lot. He felt like he’d always known that Lance was a living contradiction instead of having the realization hit him when Lance had pleaded with him not to leave his house the time he’d come over. 

 

To really see him, you couldn’t focus on the obvious. The real Lance was in the subtle things. The way he genuinely laughed at a lame joke, the hand he ran through his hair when he was thinking, the twinkle in his eyes whenever he received praise, his ability to read people and gauge situations with an efficiency that sometimes seemed unnatural. Keith had always sucked when it came to feelings, especially when they were his own. 

 

In many regards, he and Lance were polar opposites. Keith was a loner, Lance brought people together. Keith was dark and quiet, Lance was colorful and loud. But they had so much in common, too. Neither of them wanted each other’s pity. Both of them were prideful, unable to turn down a dare, and genuinely talented. 

 

Lately, he had stopped going down to his foster father’s punching bag. Instead, he spent time practicing the chords to Lance’s song with strong dedication. He had them so memorized by now, the notes might as well have been branded into his brain. He could probably play the song in his sleep. Even though Keith was horrible at anything to do with emotion, he could see that he really, really liked Lance. It hadn’t exactly been discreet, but today, when Keith saw the internal war being waged inside of Lance’s head, and felt that urge to protect rise up in his chest, he knew. Lance was going to take him down. And he would go willingly.

 

Keith hadn’t even decided to dive into what he thought of Lance’s appearance. The guy was hot, end of discussion. He was tall, tan, surprisingly fit, and his smile was to die for. Keith liked his eyes, especially. Blue like the Caribbean Sea.

 

A soft gasp from the subject of his thoughts was what brought Keith back to the present moment.

 

They’d reached their destination. Keith let off the gas and pulled to a stop, propping up the motorbike and getting off. Lance slowly pulled the dark helmet from his head, his mouth agape. The back of his neck was shiny with slight sweat.

 

They’d stopped at the prettiest place to watch a sunset Keith knew. It was a small hill overlooking the Gulf, and a strip of beach. Right now, the sand was empty of occupants, and the water was scarlet, amber, ochre, with the reflection of dying sunlight. Lance was staring at it in awe. Keith was staring at  _ him  _ in awe.

 

“I love the ocean,” Lance said dreamily, seemingly to no one. Without taking his eyes off the horizon, he went to sit on the crest of the hill, knobby knees pulled up to his chest. Keith came up next to him, and settled down in the grass that was still damp from the recent rain. They could hear the pull and sway of saltwater waves from where they perched. It was quiet for a few minutes, as Lance sat hypnotized by the water, and Keith sat trying not to think about how gay this all was.

 

His gaze kept getting stuck looking at the skin peeking through the slits in Lance’s white-washed jeans. The brown, tan skin starkly contrasted with the near-white denim in the low light, it was hard not to stare. Lance sucked in a deep breath through his nose, and Keith got distracted again, watching Lance’s chest rise and fall.

 

He needed to get ahold of himself.

 

“This is some pretty great mood lighting,” Lance murmured after a second. His eyes wandered over to Keith. “What’s up, amigo? You look like something’s on your mind.”

 

“Me?” Keith repeated stupidly.

 

“No, I’m asking the ocean. Yeah, you, numbnuts. What’s goin’ on?”

 

Keith sucked in a cheek to chew on while he thought. How should he best express what he wanted to ask?

 

“How are you--” No. “Are you--” Wrong. “Do you..?” Start over. Take a deep breath. “Are you doing okay, really? How do you really feel about the fight? What Allura said?”

 

The boy sighed, like he’d been asking himself the same exact question. “Honestly?” he said, barely audible above the distant waves. “The last comment...kind of hit too close to home. But I’m doing okay.” He took Keith’s gaze with his own. “I think I would be doing a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

 

He tried to keep his breathing steady. “What do you mean?” he questioned. “When did I step in?”

 

Lance’s tone was wistful. “I don’t know. Punching Allura was a pretty badass thing to do. And you did it to defend me, which, I dunno. Kind of neutralized the insult itself. There was also what you said in the hall. About me being your friend. That was really, uh, nice. I think I needed it.” He scratched his nose self-consciously. “There’s also the fact that you solely came over today to make sure Allura apologized to me, and to make sure I was doin’ ok. That was...really good of you. Thanks for thinking about me.”

 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and resisted the urge to tell Lance that he was literally all Keith was thinking about lately. “Of course,” he choked out.

 

“Hey, wanna know something really dumb?” A smile lit up Lance’s face. 

 

“Sure.”

 

“I thought that the two of you, you and Allura, were totally into each other. Hilarious, right? You and Allura. Oh, man. That would’ve been wild.” He snickered at his own foolishness. “Can you believe that?”

 

Keith’s mouth closed and open like a dead fish. “Why--”

 

“Because pretty girls love mysterious, rugged rock stars. Dude, why do you think I wanna be one?” He chuckled some more at himself. “No but yeah, I was hardcore worried you two were an item. I didn’t want to be in the background, you know? I didn’t want you and Allura to be the main attraction. Also, I highkey want--wanted--to make out with her.”

 

“Lance,” Keith protested, face flushing. “I’m gay. That could literally never happen.”

 

Lance’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” he murmured quietly, eyes moving instinctively to the horizon, brows tilted to the sky. “Oh.”

 

“Is that-- a problem?”   
  
“No no, of course not. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. Took me a little by surprise, is all. Sorry for just, you know. Assuming you were, uh. Yeah.”

 

You could physically see Lance thinking. His eyebrows were crushed together, his eyes squinting. His mouth was tight. Keith wondered if his revelation to Lance changed things. Finally, the boy let out a breath, stretching his long limbs out in the grass.

 

“Remember the first time we all got together?” he asked faintly, looking up at the sky. Keith grinned, the event bringing back fond memories.

 

“I do,” he answered, leaning down to lay next to Lance. “I distinctly remember you getting drenched in lemonade.” And taking his shirt off. God, that memory was vivid.

 

Lance rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah. I also remember you chucking the lemonade at my head, so.” Keith shrugged. 

 

“Touché.”

 

“I think that one shirt I was wearing still smells like lemonade, too,” snorted Lance. “Even after I washed it like five times. Now I can’t put it on without getting violent war flashbacks.” When Keith didn’t react, Lance looked over at him. “You know,” he continued. “Like, freakin’ Raven from That’s So Raven? Disney Channel? Exactly like that. Visions, I swear.”

 

He kept staring at Keith expectantly, until he finally cracked, letting a laugh out of his mouth. “I’m sure,” he replied, putting his arms behind his head as a cushion.

 

“It’s true!” Lance protested. “I have a shirt haunted by the tormented soul of a lemonade. Ohhhh, that’d be such a good TV show. On Disney Channel. Maybe Raven Symoné could play the lemonade…” he drifted off, tongue in his cheek. They were still looking at each other. Keith cleared his throat, moving his eyes away. Lance did, too. Keith observed for about the thirtieth time that evening that he was really, really gay.

 

The wind blew around them, filling the silence with something. Keith was grateful for it. The sun was almost fully below the horizon, now, leaving the ocean a dozen shades of deep purple. The sky was still painted scarlet from the sun, but Keith could tell it wouldn’t last much longer. The dark blue of the night sky was creeping slowly in. Keith glanced at his companion. Lance was thinking hard again, he was sure of it. He could almost hear the gears turning.

 

“Can I ask something serious, and kind of personal?”

 

With some reluctance, Keith nodded in compliance.

 

“How long have you been a foster kid?” Lance’s voice was unbelievably soft then, like he knew what kind of territory he was treading on. Keith forced a deep breath in and out of his lungs. He might as well tell Lance, there was no reason not to. Plus...maybe telling him would bring Lance even closer. As much as he despised pity, he had to admit playing the hug-me-I’m-an-orphan card was very tempting.

 

“Close to five years now,” he replied. “My dad died when I was twelve. Never knew my mom.”

 

Abruptly, Lance propped himself up on his elbows, looking at Keith with a pained expression. “That sounds horrible,” he whispered. Keith nodded.

 

“It is. He was killed in a car crash. It um...it made me really unstable for a while. It’s why I drive a motorcycle instead of...an automobile, I guess.” Lance stayed quiet, letting Keith continue at his own pace. He let out a shuddering breath. Now that the words were coming out, he realized he  _ wanted  _ to talk about it. Genuinely. He never really had discussed it, before. He found that over all these years, his unspoken emotions had tangled themselves up into a tight little knot inside of him. Keith could feel it, deep in his chest. As he continued to speak, he could feel the tension steadily unwinding.

 

“I really didn’t care about myself for a while. I had no one, you know? I had one good friend, and I haven’t seen him since I dropped out of the Garrison. I felt alone. So, I was stupid. I did dangerous stunts all the time. Got myself hurt.” He gestured to his ankle. “Broke that real bad when I jumped off a roof two years ago.”

 

His listener blanched. “Why were you jumping off a building?!”

 

“I liked the rush,” he confessed with a shrug. “It was the only thing that felt good. I think the term is adrenaline addict? Until that broken ankle.” He looked down at it, remembering the moment he’d broken it. The pain had been something he never wanted to experience again. “When I was recovering from that injury, I found my old man’s old guitar. The acoustic,” he added for clarity. “My dad taught me how to play when I was younger. I started practicing again, to pass the time while my ankle was healing, and ever since…” his mouth quirked upward. “Well, I haven’t been jumping off roofs. I guess it gave me an outlet that was less self-destructive.”

 

Lance nodded. “That’s great,” he agreed sincerely. “I’m glad you’re...better, now. What you went through, it sounds horrible. Really. I can’t believe you’ve gone through all that and stayed such a good person.” Good person? Since when had Lance had that opinion about him? He sounded so genuine, it made Keith’s chest hurt.

 

“I’m doing okay,” he reassured. “Music has helped me get through most of the bad crap.” It bothered him that Lance was being uncharacteristically serious. Where were his cheesy one-liners when you needed them? “How’d you get into music?” Keith asked back, changing the subject. Lance let out a breathy chuckle and rubbed the back of his head self-consciously.

 

“Ah...I’m afraid it’s not as personal and touching as your story.” His shoulders slumped. “It’s actually kind of...I don’t know. Annoyingly dumb. In middle school, there were these twins. For thirteen-year-olds, they were real hot. At least, that’s what thirteen-year-old me thought. The girl, her name was Ginger. Her brother was named Isaac. And the thing was, they were super popular because they were way talented. Ginger could play the piano and Isaac sang and played guitar, and they were mega cool. Ginger was really sweet but I remember Isaac kind of being a jerk? Anyway. I remember hearing them at the eighth grade talent show and falling in love. So, like any lovestruck idiot, I spent the entire year learning the guitar in order to impress them. It uh, it obviously didn’t. But I stuck with it because I’d worked really hard to buy my own guitar, and I wasn’t gonna just waste my money like that. Fast forward four years and here I am. Just a lame dude with a bass guitar and self-destructive tendencies. ” He gestured vaguely. “What’d I say, man? Annoying and dumb.”

 

“That’s not annoying  _ or  _ dumb,” Keith replied after a second. “That’s incredibly dedicated and nice of you. You must’ve really liked that Ginger girl.”

 

Lance just shrugged. “Something like that. Can we quit talking about my inadequacies now?” he half-joked. “If it’s okay with you? I know that pointing out my flaws is the new pastime of The Lions and all, but I’d really appreciate it.”

 

The joke was cutting and dark; like a shard of glass compared to Lance’s usually buoyant sense of humor. Keith frowned. Lance was still propped up on his elbows, legs sprawled out carelessly on the ground. He watched his own feet swing back and forth slowly. Like he felt the weight of Keith’s focus, the boy turned.

 

“I didn’t mean that,” he apologized when he saw Keith’s expression. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny.” 

 

Keith held his hands up in a peacemaking gesture. “It’s cool.” As if suddenly antsy, Lance huffed a breath and pulled himself from the grass.

 

“Nothing against your company,” Lance began. “But we should go. I’m pretty sure the fam was expecting me forever ago.” He patted his pockets, looking for his phone, while Keith went over to start the motorcycle back up.

 

A few moments later, Lance came strolling up with a strangely pleased look on his face.

 

“What’s the smile for?” Keith had asked innocently.

 

“Allura’s gonna start to try looking for gigs. She suggested a buddy system for us to scout out some places this weekend. Looks like Pidge and Allura are a thing and….Huh, Coran and Hunk already partnered up. That leaves just us, doesn’t it?”

 

A terse nod was the only action he could will himself to do. On the inside, he was all mush.

 

“So serious,” Lance teased, a sleazy grin slapped onto his face as he sat himself behind Keith on the motorcycle. The boy held on tight and with no reservations this time, had the helmet on. “By the way, I had a really good time,” he muttered quietly near Keith’s ear. “It was nice to just, like, talk to you. We haven’t really done that before now, you know?” In response, Keith just revved the engine of his bike and tried not to mentally combust. 

 

He had had a really good time too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PINING KEITH CONFIRMED  
> how many more chapters do you think will be written before lance finds out he's completely in love?


	12. It's A Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS chapter is named after the song It's A Mistake by Men At Work (1983)
> 
> I hope you enjoy everything going downhill, as the very relevant title of this chapter suggests!
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!

Lance had to admit to himself that he was more than a little excited to take Keith to a club. And not just any club, his favorite bounce palace. (That was what he’d called clubs for like, a year. He had hoped it would catch on, but it never had.)

 

He hadn’t been on the scene in a while, but  _ Tierra  _ was the best club around, no doubt. He couldn’t wait to bring Keith there. The motorcycle excursion had been amazing, Lance had had a wonderful time. But he couldn’t help but feel a little one-upped. Keith had given him his first motorcycle ride. 

 

Lance wanted to give him a first, too. After all, he wasn’t exactly a let’s-go-have-a-bro-to-bro-talk-while-watching-the-sunset kind of guy. (At least, he hadn’t been.). The deepest talk he’d ever had with a friend had actually been at  _ Tierra, _ when Hunk and Lance had both been drunk off their asses. Lance only remembered some of it, and he wasn’t sure Hunk recalled any of it. And of course, Pidge’s and his friendship mainly consisted of farting around in the Garrison.

 

They both catered to different parts of his personality. Hunk, as far as Lance figured, flattered his familial and caring side. Pidge enhanced his goofball, funny side. Even Allura brought his flirtatious, romantic side into the light. But Keith?

 

He had no idea where that hecking boy fit on the Spectrum Of Lance. Keith made him reckless, competitive, maybe a little jerk-ish. All that was true. But he also made Lance feel important, supported and...genuinely happy. All of  _ that _ was true too. Keith didn’t bring out just one aspect of his personality like everyone else. It confused him.

 

Something had changed the night he’d gotten a ride on Keith’s bike. Something had changed with him and Keith, or had finished changing, or was beginning to change. He had no idea. All he knew was he was determined to take Keith to  _ Tierra _ and have a legendary time. He had to, in order to pay Keith back.

 

Lance thought all of this as he rested his sweaty forehead against the warm leather of his steering wheel.

 

Keith was taking foreverrrrrrrrrr.

 

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he only noticed his passenger when they slammed the door of his truck shut.

 

“Careful with that,” Lance whined without looking up. “Blue is my baby.”

 

“I thought your bass was named Blue,” Keith muttered.

 

“I name a lot of things Blue. It’s a good name.” Lance unstuck his forehead from the wheel and looked up at Keith with an irritated expression. “Why’d you take so long?”

 

“Sorry,” Keith said as he secured his safety belt, clearly not sorry. “I had to convince my foster parents that I could be responsible. It took a while.”

 

Clearly. He recognized the irony that Keith would probably end up being the responsible one tonight anyway. “Well then,” relished Lance. “Let’s get out of this american suburbia hellscape and onto a funner scene, shall we?”   
  


Keith snorted. “Funner isn’t a word.”

 

“Whatever, dropout.”

 

_ _ _

  
  


Keith hadn’t been to a club before. Not this kind. He could feel the beat of the music thumping in his ears before he could actually see the building.

 

They were gonna play here? No way. This place was for DJs, and remixes, and remixes of remixes. Not for a live band like  _ The Lions. _ Lance couldn’t be serious.

 

He would’ve said so too, but the look on Lance’s face took all the words right off his tongue. The guy was as giddy as a child going on their first rollercoaster. His eyes were lit up with his familiar, manic energy, his fingers were drumming against the wheel.

 

Keith couldn’t bring himself to say anything, so he looked out his window instead. The club was right around the corner, smothered in black paint and blue fluorescent lights. A huge neon sign advertising the club’s name hung on the side. There was a queue of people out the door and onto the sidewalk outside.

 

Lance drove around the back of the club and parked. He twisted the keys out of the ignition, and the car shuddered to a stop. In the streetlights, Lance’s smile looked oddly ominous. He asked if Keith was ready.

 

Keith said yes, because he didn’t know what else he could’ve said.

 

They got out of the car. Lance nudged him and with a grin, said, “Watch this.” He skipped ahead of the line and went straight to the man blocking the door.

 

“Hey, Ernesto!” he greeted, coming up to the guy like it was no big deal. The man looked Lance up and down, unimpressed, before breaking into a huge grin and crushing the boy in a hug.

 

“Lance!” he shouted back, giving the boy a noogie. “What’s up, boy? You haven’t come over in ages!” They continued conversing in rapid Spanish that Keith didn’t bother trying to catch. The only thing he could understand was the last thing he said to Lance, in English.

 

“Go see Emilio, eh? He’ll want to see you.” Lance assured him he would before turning back to Keith and gesturing to follow.

 

“Who’s Emilio?” Keith asked, as they walked into the club. He almost had to yell it to be heard over all the commotion and music that was suddenly thumping through the floor and into their ears.

 

“Family,” Lance shouted back. “Well, my cousin’s wife’s brother, but same diff. We’re basically cousins. He loves me!” They were situated just short of the huge crowd that dominated the first floor of the club. The building itself was dark, warm, and too loud. Keith found himself not a fan.

 

However, Keith  _ did  _ find himself a fan of Lance grabbing his arm in order to stay together. He let Lance lead him around the club, up the stairs, to a door. He knocked loudly and insistently, only letting up when an irritated man whipped it open.

 

“What?” he snapped. Lance laughed, letting go of Keith to spread his arms wide.

 

“Emilio!” he greeted jovially. “Long time no see!”

 

“Lance?” The man, apparently Emilio, gaped. Then, after a moment of recovery, he grinned. Even though he and Lance were not blood related, Keith found the grin eerily similar to Lance’s own. Easy, and sleazy from certain angles. Quickly, the man pulled his cousin close into a hug, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Where have you been?” he asked. “We’ve missed you!”

 

Lance laughed breathlessly, pushing Emilio off of him. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve been busy!” They exchanged a few friendly words in Spanish before Emilio turned his stare onto Keith.

 

“ _ Quién es? _ ” he inquired. Keith knew enough of basic spanish to understand and introduce himself as a friend of Lance’s. “Ah,” replied the man with a gracious smile. “A friend of Lance is a friend of mine. Lance,  _ quiero que tomes bebidas gratis. Cortesía de la casa. Toma todo lo que tenemos si quieres. _ ” He laughed then, like he’d said something funny, and Lance smiled along. But Keith caught how Lance’s eyes anxiously flicked toward him, even if both of them were pretending he didn’t.

 

“Thanks Emilio,” Lance said slowly. Then, switching tones, he eagerly added, “Hey, did you know I’m in a band now?”

 

“Really?” Emilio answered, looking incredulous. “Finally find one that would take you?”

 

“Emilio, please. The others couldn’t  _ handle  _ me. But anyway, I’m here because our manager was looking for places to play, for gigs. I figured since, you know, you’re the club owner, and stuff…” He trailed off hopefully as Emilio stroked his tan chin in thought.

 

“Hm, well usually I wouldn’t be inclined to entertain the idea. After all this is a club, we generally don’t host live bands. However…” More chin stroking as the man overlooked his domain. “Perhaps we could make some money on a live performance night. Get a different crowd attracted to  _ Tierra. _ More customers.”

 

Lance straightened, the hidden hope in his eyes betrayed by a dazzling, excited smile. Emilio saw it and smiled back.

 

“But not your first gig,  _ primo _ . I’ll be at your first performance for sure, to see how you play. Then, and only then, I’ll consider hosting you at my place. Sound good?”

 

“More than good!” Lance agreed quickly, taking Emilio into another hug. “I can’t express how grateful I would be if you gave us a place to play.” The two drifted into Spanish again, and Keith stopped paying attention until they were done.

 

“Keith,” The club owner called afterward, bring his attention back to the duo. “Lance tells me you play very well. I’m looking forward to seeing you perform with  _ mi primo _ here. I hope you two have a nice time tonight. Drinks are on me, but don’t take too much, eh?” His voice dropped in volume and a mischievous glint showed in Emilio’s eye. “After all, one of you has to drive home, and it won’t be Lance.”

 

_ What the hell did that mean? _

 

Keith peered down at Lance, who had already descended into the dance floor below to mingle. He could just barely spot his crew cut above everyone else’s bobbing heads. Thank god that boy was tall. He was headed to the bar. Had Emilio implied was Keith thought he’d implied? Now that he thought about it, the guy at the door hadn’t asked Lance for an ID at all...he hadn’t stopped Keith either.

 

He felt his eyes narrow, and quickly made his way to follow his friend. Something was wrong here, he could feel it. 

 

Keith followed Lance’s trail through the suffocating crowd. The people here were loud, close together, and sweaty. More than once he narrowly avoided having beer spilt on him. He was glad when he finally made it through the dance floor, only to have that relief crushed when he popped out by the bar. Lance was perched on a chair, elbows leaning on the counter. He was conversing with the bartender and was twirling a beverage in his hand that made Keith a little sick to think about.

 

“Lance!” he exclaimed, coming up to him. The other boy looked over with a grin.

 

“Hey Keith, nice of you to join us. You like the club so far?” His voice was eager, wanting, and only a little cheerful. Something else was preoccupying Lance’s brain besides having a good time. Keith had to force his eyes off of Lance’s and onto the more important matter, which was the beverage currently grasped in Lance’s hand.

 

“Is that alcohol?” He accused, his mouth drooping into a frown. “You can’t be serious.”

 

It took a moment for him to connect the dots. “Oh,” he stuttered. “Oh, Keith. Bud. Sorry if--it didn’t occur to me that you don’t drink.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “That was kind of inconsiderate of me.”

 

“Wh--But--It’s--” Keith sputtered unbelievingly. “Lance, it’s not about that at all! You’re underage! Did they even card you?” He glared at the bartender, who was busy attending another client.

 

Lance chewed on his bottom lip and edged his drink closer to his mouth.

 

“Don’t even  _ try _ taking a sip of that in front of me,” Keith threatened. “How long have you been doing this?”

 

“Drinking?” Lance’s voice was small and tinged with shame. Keith felt like a parent berating their child. “I’ve been drinking here since...maybe two years ago…” Keith felt his teeth grate together.

 

“That’s illegal, Lance! What this grungy place is doing, just ignoring your age, that’s illegal too! Does Emilio even know you’re under?”   
  


“Of course he does!” Lance defended sharply. “It’s just, you know, Emilio is from this place in Spain, where the drinking age is lower. So he lets me drink because that’s what he’s used to! Like, culturally.”

 

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay here, though,” added Keith bitterly. “How much do you drink? Emilio said you wouldn’t be able to drive home tonight!”

 

Lance, with a perfectly straight expression, brought his beverage to his lips and took a gulp. Keith had to keep his hands from clenching into fists. Lance set the drink down with a quiet  _ clunk _ and exhaled.

 

“I can’t believe Mr. Keith I-Defy-Authority is defending the law.” He said seriously. “Man, I will be fine. I’ve been doing this for a few years. I know my limit, okay? Nothing is going to happen. Emilio was joking.” Then, he smiled slightly. “You were worried about me?”

 

“Yes.” Keith stated, seeing no reason to hide it. “I am worried about you drinking, and rightfully so.” That comment about Lance knowing his limit rang untrue with Keith. If Lance lacked anything, it was self-control. He’d said himself that he had self-destructive tendencies. Especially in places where peer pressure was strong, like this club. “What would your mother think?”

 

Lance scoffed, taking another deep sip of his drink. “She knows,” he grunted. “She’s not happy about it, but she knows. This isn’t exactly a grand secret, bub.” He shuffled in his seat, looking uncomfortable. Some of Keith’s prickliness melted away when he managed to meet Keith’s gaze again. “It is nice of you to be concerned, though, Keith. I mean that. And I hope…” He stopped, eyes straying to somewhere in the background. “Oh Jesus,” he muttered, instead of continuing.

 

Keith turned to follow where Lance was staring, but couldn’t figure out what he was looking at. All he saw was a mass of club-goers. Suddenly, Lance was by his side, leaning close. “I’m gonna go over to the dance floor,” he murmured. “There’s someone here I really don’t want to talk to.” Keith felt Lance’s hot breath touch his neck, and then he was gone. 

 

He noticed with annoyance that Lance had taken his beverage with him.

 

“Idiot,” Keith grunted, taking the now empty chair at the bar. It was still warm from where Lance had sat. There was no way he was following that guy into a mosh pit. They’d been there for just under one hour and he’d already had his fair share of personal space invasions. For someone so social, Lance knew how to escape people he didn’t want to see. Keith guessed he was probably that person at the moment.

 

That didn’t make him feel very good.

 

_ But you had a good reason to be concerned, _ he told himself.  _ Just because you got on him about something, doesn’t make you the bad guy.  _

 

He sighed, playing with the zipper of his jacket for a few moments, allowing himself to feel bad about feeling bad that he made Lance feel bad.

 

Then a woman sidled into the seat next to him. The bartender was on her right away, asking her what she wanted.

 

“Surprise me,” she said coyly, handing the bartender her card. The bar guy scoffed at her pretentious air and headed off to make her a drink. The woman turned her attentions to Keith.

 

“You come here often?” she asked with a teasing grin.

 

Keith stared at her, unimpressed. “Not interested,” he told her as plainly and obviously as he possibly could. She just laughed, her giggle sounding like a jingling bell.

 

“Neither am I,” she admitted. “I just wanted to see your reaction. It’s obvious, anyway, that you don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“Come here often.”

 

He rolled his eyes. This woman wasn’t worth his time. The bartender came back with a tall, intimidating beverage and handed it to the girl. She thanked him with a bat of her eyelashes, and Keith could’ve sworn the man blushed. Before the bartender could turn away, though, Keith ordered a water. He felt awkward sitting at a bar with nothing to drink. He felt awkward at a bar period. And that girl wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was a pizza she’d just ordered. It felt demeaning.

 

“Look,” he said pointedly. “I mean it when I say I’m not interested. You’re not gonna get a score with me.”

 

“I’m not interested in you,” she replied airily, taking a swig from her glass. “I’m interested in Lance. You two are friends, huh? Did you see where he went?”

 

Keith glared at her. “He’s not interested either.”

 

At that, she raised an eyebrow. “No,” she countered. “I know Lance. He’s always interested. Especially when he’s drunk.”

 

Something ugly was rising inside Keith’s chest. He didn’t like how she was talking about his friend. “Lance already has someone,” he told her icily. “Back off.”

 

“Excuse after excuse,” the girl smiled and brought her lips to the brim of her glass. “You must not know Lance at all. If he had someone, he’d obviously be out there dancing with them. There are two moods he’s ever in when he comes to  _ Tierra. _ He either comes here to wallow in his loneliness and get drunk,” she paused for another gulp of her beverage. “Or he brings his crush here for a first date. And I don’t see a girl.” Keith’s heart hammered in his ribcage. He was getting worked up. Dangerously worked up.

 

“You need to shut your mouth right now,” he advised, his voice barely contained.

 

The girl just laughed. God, her laugh was annoying.

 

He gave her the scariest look that he could muster and tried to keep himself from bitch-slapping her in the face. She was at the receiving end of a smoldering glare that hopefully said,  _ Can you please get the hell out of my sight before you need a restraining order against me? _

 

“Yikes,” she muttered into her drink as she caught wind of what he trying to communicate. Her blonde ponytail whipped in his direction as she turned away from him and got out of her seat. She’d clearly received the message.

 

Good riddance. Keith watched her retreat into the dancing crowd with dark satisfaction. He didn’t know who she was, but she could keep her grubby little hands off of Lance, thank you very much.

 

The music was starting to make his head pound. That, combined with the less than pleasurable interaction he had just endured, and tonight in general, was only making Keith more irritable. With a deep breath, he pressed a finger to his temple and tried to take a few deep breaths. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to leave. He would just have to suck it up and tell Lance. If he’d ruined the night, well, he could deal with that. Keith would make it up to him later.

 

But, to ruin Lance’s night, he had to find him first. He swivelled in his seat to face the bar, gesturing for the bar man to come over.

 

“You finally gonna get something?” the guy grunted, rolling up his sleeves.

 

“No,” Keith told him. “You know Lance?”

 

“Everyone here knows Lance,” the man replied with an eye roll. “He used to practically live here.”

 

Keith nodded like he understood, and that this was not in fact something he had never seen in Lance before. “Where else would he be in here?”

 

At that, the bartender chuckled. “The shot corner, man,” he answered in between laughs. “There’s a shot table permanently set up in the far side over there. Lance used to be house champ.” He helpfully pointed to a dark corner of the club, where the mass of people did seem a little denser.

 

“Thanks,” said Keith slowly as he looked over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he was actually thankful or not, though. “Do you have any  _ other  _ idea where he’d be?”

 

“Hey dude, I have customers,” said the bartender, backing away. “You’ll find him, don’t worry.”

 

Keith had to resist the urge to yell at the man that it was  _ what  _ he would find that worried him. Time was flexible, in this place. There were no windows, he couldn’t tell the passage of time. Lance could’ve been away for an hour, or fifteen minutes. Both options felt reasonable to him, and both options seemed like enough time for Lance to down one too many shots. Keith took a deep breath, and started to elbow through the throngs of people. 

 

They bounced and danced around him, creating moving obstacles in his way. Some to the beat, some not. Everyone reeked of body odor and alcohol. Keith’s mind turned onto auto-pilot, his primary focus getting to Lance before something bad happened.He pushed past body after body after body. In the back of his head, his mind went to martial arts practice. The memories instinctively calmed his buzzing brain. He used to take them as a kid at his father’s insistence. They’d stopped after the car crash. But whenever he was especially anxious somewhere where he couldn’t punch a bag or get his guitar, the breathing exercises he had learned years ago came in handy.

 

He felt his breathing slow, surprised to realize that before, it had been bordering on panicked. Keith needed to get himself together. He hadn’t realized how out of touch he was with social things like this--there were so many  _ people. _ His house, the foster home he’d been living in, was usually empty. Keith didn’t talk to people at his school. He wasn’t used to having people around. Being alone was more familiar and far more preferable, unless they were his bandmates or another outlier.

 

He finally pushed his way to the corner. There, standing in the center of attention, was Lance. At least he was  _ standing _ , and not slumped unconscious in a corner. Keith felt the tension leave his shoulders, only to have it return a second later. Keith watched as Lance tipped a shot down his throat, adam’s apple bobbing as it slid down. In the darkness of the club, it was hard to tell who was tucked in the crook of his arm--but that laugh gave it away.

 

It was the blonde snake who’d annoyed him at the bar. 

 

Lance wasn’t looking at her, it was like he really didn’t know she was there. He didn’t acknowledge her presence at all as she put another shot in his hand, he just swallowed it. His eyes were on the man across from him, drinking just as much. The other man was older, definitely legal to drink. He had a scruffy chin and was taking the shots with ease. Lance took another one and staggered a bit. The girl, in her stupid low-cut dress, looped an arm around Lance’s waist to keep him steady. Her hand, though, was definitely below his hips. Keith felt like he was going to choke. There were a bunch of club-goers around him spectating what he finally realized was a shot contest.

 

_ Stupid Lance, _ he groaned inwardly.  _ Stupid, competitive, prideful Lance. _

Keeping his breathing in check, he broke out of the crowd and strode out toward his bandmate. “Hey,” he growled, grabbing Lance’s wrist. He effectively stopped another shot from being downed. “We need to leave.” Their eyes met, but Lance’s gaze was hazy and unfocused.

__

“Keith?” he said, his voice slightly slurred. “I thought.,.you left.”

__

“Idiot,” Keith growled, “How many shots have you had?”

__

“Dunno,” he replied, looking down. “Maybe..four. Five. Seven?”

__

Plus the drink from earlier. Keith groaned. Lance had managed to get himself thoroughly drunk. “I can’t believe this,” he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. “Come on. Time to go.” He tugged on the bassist’s wrist, but he didn’t move. “Lance,” Keith warned.

__

“Nymaaa,” Lance drawled, looking over to the girl who had finally separated herself from his waist. A hot flash of something travelled up Keith’s spine. Was it jealousy? Most likely.

__

“Leave her,” he answered venomously, tugging Lance’s wrist again. 

__

“Nonono…we can’t yet. Nyma...she...”  Lance ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He opened his mouth a few times, but couldn’t seem to say what he wanted. Finally, he just put a hand in his back pocket. “Last time she…money. Money. She had my money.” His eyes travelled to Keith’s nervously. He looked so pathetic there. Standing in a dark club, young, drunk, impressionable and helpless. It just made Keith angrier than he already was.

__

“Do you have your wallet or not?” Keith grumbled.

__

“Um…” Lance patted his back pockets again. “No.” Keith remembered where Nyma’s hand had been a moment ago and bristled. He could see her standing by the wall with the guy Lance had been competing against.

__

He looked at Lance. “Stay.” He demanded. “Don’t. Do. Anything.”

__

He went after Nyma. Reached her within seconds, pinned her shoulder against the wall, and gave her the same burning glare as earlier.

__

“Wallet,” he demanded.

__

“Rude,” Nyma replied, looking at him just as hatefully. “Don’t you have any decency? You do realize what this looks like.”

__

“Wallet.” He repeated. “Give it to me before I separate your head from your neck.”

__

With an exasperated sigh, she reached into her bra and pulled out a worn out leather wallet. “Didn’t have anything, anyway,” she grumbled. Before letting her go, Keith made sure it was Lance’s. His ID was inside, as well as some spare change. Keith’s death grip slackened and Nyma slipped from between his arms into the crowd. He let her go. Not worth it. If Lance had lost any money, it was his own damn fault.

__

Keith said that much to him as he slammed the wallet into his band mate’s chest. Lance stumbled backwards from the impact, off-balance. If it was possible, he seemed even drunker. He kept mumbling something Keith couldn’t hear.

__

“We are leaving.” He said with finality. This time, Lance didn’t argue.

 


	13. Who's Crying Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> long time no see!! sorry for never updating hhhhhh i've been working on other stuff too
> 
> This chapter is named after the song Who's Crying Now by Journey (1981)

Lance needed help getting his seat belt on.

 

Keith had never had to help someone who was drunk before tonight. He was usually busy avoiding them when they came home. Like the rest of his evening, he found he did not enjoy it. Lance had the independence of a toddler, and Keith hated toddlers.

 

However, he did not hate Lance, and that was probably what kept him from tossing the guy out of the car and driving home by himself.

 

His hands gripped the wheel with ferocity, and there was so much he wanted to say. But he kept himself quiet. The words would be lost on an intoxicated Lance, the best it’d do right now was start a fight. Keith was too tired for a fight. Lance and him had fought enough, anyway. He had to save his words for tomorrow, when the guy was sober enough to actually listen.

 

But just ‘cause he was quiet didn’t mean Lance was.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lance kept blubbering. “I’m sorry.” His face was buried in his knees, which were drawn up clumsily upon the passenger seat with the rest of him. In a quieter voice, he said things like,  _ “This was so wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I just wanted to have fun with you.”  _ Variations of the same things. “ _ I’m sorry I made you angry, I don’t like making you mad, please don’t be mad at me.” _ Things that Keith would’ve thought about instead of sleeping if Lance wasn’t as drunk as an Irishman on St. Patrick’s Day.  _ Say those things while you’re sober, _ Keith silently dared.  _ Right now what you say doesn’t mean anything. _

 

Halfway to Lance’s place, Lance started crying.

 

It wasn’t loud and sobby. In fact, Keith hadn’t even noticed until his eye caught the glimmer of a tear rolling silently down Lance’s cheek in the dull shine of a red light.

 

_ Oh God, _ Keith thought miserably. _ Oh God.  _ He was ill-equipped for this. With the light still red, Keith risked looking away from the road to the person at his right.

 

“Why’re you crying?” he questioned. Except he’d been so focused on having it not sound desperate, it’d come out as more of a hostile growl than a question.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lance sniffed. “I know I’m drunk. I’m sorry I’m drunk.” His voice had a very childlike quality to it. 

 

The light turned green, and Keith was forced to look away. Should he pull over? Should he keep driving? Lance always made such an effort to be bright and happy, he wasn’t sure what to do with a Lance who wasn’t.

 

“What do you want me to do?” he murmured, making a turn.

 

“I want you to be okay,” the bassist answered from his seat, his tongue slurring up the words. His head rolled over to Keith’s direction, and although Keith could only see Lance in his peripheral vision, he could picture Lance’s lip quivering, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes glistening with held-back tears.

 

_ You’re just making this worse,  _ Keith scolded himself.  _ Don’t do this to yourself. _

 

“Keith,” Lance whimpered. “Lemme explain.”

 

Keith stomped on the brakes and pulled over into the road’s shoulder. As soon as the car was in park, he twisted over to face his passenger.

 

“Was it my fault?” he demanded, “Why did you leave the bar like that?”

 

Lance put his head in his hands. “No. No no no. This isn’t, it isn’t about you. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It was Nyma. She was the one I didn’t wanna see…God, I’m sorry.”

 

“So why were you with her anyway?” Keith exclaimed. In the dark of the evening, Keith could only see Lance in the dim amber light from a far-off streetlight. “I don’t understand.”

 

The subject of Keith’s frustration let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “I’m no good drunk,” he mumbled. “I wish I was sober...or no I don’t. I don’t want to be sober right now. I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry for  _ what _ , Lance?! You keep saying that, but you never actually explain what you’re apologizing for!” Keith unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned into his friend, putting both hands on each side of his face, forcing Lance to look at him. “I know you’re drunk, but I need you to focus and tell me what’s wrong.”

 

Lance’s face was hot underneath his hands.

 

“I...I wanted to show you something different,” Lance admitted, the silhouette of his shoulders drooping. “I wanted to give you like, a friggin’ vis-vish-visceral experience like you did for me, you know? I wanted to have a good time with you but something that was like me. Like motorsick-- motorsack-- motor _ cycles _ are you.  _ Tierra _ is me.” He made very vague hand gestures to accentuate his poorly explained point. Keith understood it perfectly, though, and it felt like a hot spike being driven into his chest. Lance had just been trying to show him a part of himself to Keith, the way Keith had with Lance. He was trying to return the favor, but it’d failed miserably. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Lance babbled again. “I ruined it. I screwed up, just like...” The rest of whatever he was trying to say was drowned out by an overcoming sob that shook Lance’s body. “Sorry. Sorry. You weren’t having fun at all ‘n I saw it ‘n I just thought if I had somethin’ to drink I could loosen stuff up but I ruined everything.” He hiccuped. “Nyma, she, she said you...you...didn’t want to be there anymore. She said you left. So I figured...what the heck. ‘N then a guy came over to do shots ‘n you saw the rest.”

 

“Lance,” Keith whispered as gently as he could. “I know you’re...emotionally...compromised. But uh, I want you to know that I care about you, okay? And I wouldn’t leave you without saying anything. I appreciate how much you tried, tonight. And I know you didn’t mean it to end up where it did.” Lance’s eyelids fluttered as he blinked away more tears. Keith realized he was still holding onto his friend’s face, and let go. “Will you be okay?” he asked.

 

“I dunnooooo,” Lance answered honestly. “Todaysss...been pretty crap.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“I know I already said this but...I’m reallllllly sorry I ruined the date...”

 

Keith froze.

 

He froze with his hands halfway to turn the key in the ignition, and with his eyes half on the road, half on Lance. The latter seemed not to realize what he had just said. Keith had to make himself turn away. He knew not to hope. He  _ knew _ he’d get disappointed. But something said to him earlier that night spiraled into his head.  _ There are two moods he’s ever in when he comes to Tierra. He either comes here to wallow in his loneliness and get drunk, or he brings his crush here for a first date. _

 

Date. Lance had definitely said  _ date. _ But there was no way. Absolutely no way. Lance was as heterosexual as someone could be. He was drunk. Things were coming out of his mouth that he didn’t mean. A rush of frustration rose in him. Of course Lance would mess with him like this. Of course he would  _ tease _ him like this. Keith smacked his hand on the steering wheel and swerved back onto the road.

 

The rest of the trip back was silent.

 

_ _ _

 

Keith had to half-carry his friend out of the car. It was a pity that Lance’s legs were jelly but his mouth seemed to work fine. 

 

The lights on Lance’s house were on. His mother sat in a lawnchair by the door, arms and legs crossed. Before Keith even put the car in park, he knew Lance was screwed. He felt awkward being  _ that friend. _ The one that drove his friend’s drunk ass home to their waiting disappointed parents.

 

“Hi Mrs. McClain,” Keith greeted, waving with the hand that wasn’t holding Lance upright.

 

“Hello, Keith.” she said with a frown. “I assume Lance is drunk again.”

 

“Hi moooom….” Lance interjected. “You’re right. I’m drunk as fffffffuuuuu---”

 

“Language,” Mrs. McClain seethed. “We have a guest.”

 

“But it’s jus’ Keith,” Lance replied loopily. “He’s a good, the best…”

 

Lance’s mom stood, coming over to assist Keith. She took one of Lance’s lanky arms and draped it over her shoulder. They half-carried, half-dragged him into the house. 

 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with this,” Mrs. McClain apologized. “It hasn’t happened in awhile, I thought he’d stopped going to clubs.” The she turned to give Keith a suspicious glare. “I hope you didn’t have a hand in this.”

 

“No ma’am,” Keith answered quickly, somehow incredibly intimidated by this small woman. “Absolutely not. He surprised me too.”

 

The woman sighed, wiping a lock of hair from her forehead. “We’ll just set him on the couch for now, yes?”

 

“Okay.”

 

In a joined effort, they maneuvered the half-aware Lance onto the worn couch in their living room. His eyes were shut by the time he was all the way on. Mrs. McClain wiped her hands on her thighs and looked down at her son with lips pursed. “He’s always been a troublemaker,” she said to Keith in a sorry tone. “It’s part of being the youngest child. Always vying for attention. Will you come outside with me?” She gestured for Keith to join her out to the front yard. Keith didn’t know what else to do, so out of politeness, he followed.

 

The screen door slammed behind them. Lance’s mother had retrieved another lawn chair from somewhere unknown to Keith. She situated it to the right of her, and gestured for him to sit. He did. The grass of the yard went up to his ankles, damp with dew. The only sounds were that of distant cars, crickets, and cicadas. Despite it being summer, the night was cool. Mrs. McClain sighed. Keith found it hard to imagine that Lance could’ve ever been worried about Keith disliking this house. 

 

“I can’t apologize enough for my son’s behavior. Really, I appreciate you driving him home. I know that it takes a special type of person to do the things you’ve done for my son.”

 

Keith felt his cheeks go pink. “Driving him back here was really no problem, Mrs. McClain…”

 

“I don’t mean that.” She looked at him with eyebrows raised. “I mean I appreciate how much happier he is. Sometimes that boy can scare me. Turning to alcohol is a foul way to deal with emotional stress. It was a lot worse earlier in school, though. He’s gotten much better. I’m hoping _ you’ve _ made him that way.”

 

Keith could feel his blush get more intense. “Er...are you sure? When we first met, you know, he hated me.” The woman waved this notion away with her hands.

 

“Nonsense. He has that pretense with everyone he likes. I know you are helping him, because instead of sneaking out of the house to go to  _ Tierra, _ he is writing that song you are both working on. He hums it when he does the dishes.”

 

In learning of this, Keith felt as if he were intruding onto something incredibly intimate. What could he possibly respond with?

 

“There was this boy in middle school that Lance talked nonstop about.” Mrs. McClain continued. “Let me tell you about this boy, Keith. Lance learned  _ guitar _ for him. Can you believe that? What other thirteen year old would go so far?” She shook her head and chuckled. He knew the story. Lance had told a slightly different version. One with a girl, too. But now that he thought about it, Lance had never said which one he liked. Keith watched her warily.

 

“A boy?” he clarified slowly. “You mean Lance is…”

 

“Bisexual, honey.” she finished.

 

“And you’re okay with that?”

 

Lance’s mother snorted. “I would never disown Lance for being who he is. What I’m more concerned with, right now, is that you know what you’re getting into with my son.” She gave him an appraising look that only embarrassed Keith more. She was totally insinuating that they were dating, or going to. “My boy matters a lot to me. Do you see that, over there, in the sidewalk?” She pointed a finger to a marking in the sidewalk that led up to their driveway. Keith squinted at it. It looked kinda like a lopsided snake, and a tiny impression in the cement.

 

“That,” his companion explained, “Is Lance’s handprint and initials that he pressed into that concrete ten years ago, when it was still wet and new. He was in the first grade. I remember it like it was yesterday, the delighted look in his eyes…” she focused back on him. “Lance is my youngest child. I won’t have you breaking his heart. The Lord knows it has been broken too many times already.”

 

Mrs. McClain continued with little regard for how comfortable Keith was. He saw that bluntness ran in the family.

 

“My son is a handful,” she informed him. “He’s needy, clingy, and has personal problems. He will not be an easy partner. If you are in this, you’re in this for the long haul. He brings you home, this isn’t going to be a hit-and-run. I will not allow you to disrespect my son in such a way.”   
  


Keith could do nothing but sputter as she went on.

 

“You need to have some backbone and deal with him. He’s annoying and he makes stupid decisions. You cannot afford to be passive. Do you think you can deal with that?”

 

She gazed at him expectantly. It took him a moment to realize she wanted an answer.

 

“Um, I--I think so?” 

 

Lance’s mother broke out into a smile. “I know you can, Keith. I have seen the way you act with him. I’ve heard what he’s said about you. Tonight, what you did for him, it confirmed my impression of you.”

 

“Then why did you ask?” His voice was low. 

 

There was a twinkle in Mrs. McClain’s eye. “Parenting tip from a professional, Keith. Only ever ask questions you already know the answer to. So let me ask you this. Do you love him?” 

 

What kind of person could handle being raised by this otherworldly trickster god.

 

Keith didn’t have time to do anything. She patted his cheek as he sat frozen, got up from her chair, and he was alone in Lance’s front yard.

 

It was 1 AM.

 

He had some things to sort through.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :P also, i started another klance fic called Homecoming the other day, i would appreciate if you would check it out. i dont have anyone working with me on this fic but that one has a beta reader and everything, pretty fancy. anyway, have a nice day!


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